


The Beast in Man

by Silent_So_Long



Series: Vampires in Berlin (aka Ramm-pires in Berlin) [1]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Blood Drinking, Character Turned Into Vampire, Cover Art, Digital Art, M/M, Sexual Content, Vampire Bites, Vampire Turning, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-18 04:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4692260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rammstein, a vampire attack and a recording session in the mountains of Austria.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m surprised that, in over two years of writing R+ fic, I haven’t actually written a proper vampire story yet. Anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that I’m absolutely bat-shit crazy about vampires. (pun intended). So, here we are then, this is my rather belated attempt at doing something vamp related. 
> 
> And yes, there is a town called Bezau, and a mountain range called Bregenzenwaldgebirge in Austria, but, as far as I know, there is no recording studio in the Bregenzenwald itself. That is merely artistic license on my part. 
> 
> The title, and opening verse of chapter one, comes from a rather super poem called Marschliedchen by Eric Kästner.

  
[](http://s1368.photobucket.com/user/paulchen2/media/thebeastinmanbefunky_zpsjv8xaq4v.jpg.html)  
  


****

_You love hatred and want to measure the world against it,_  
 _You throw food to the beast in man,_  
 _That it may grow, the beast deep within you!_  
 _Let the beast in man devour man._

**_Marschliedchen_ \- Eric Kästner **

****

Richard shivered and pulled his coat closer around his body, as snow drifted in fat white clumps down from the sky; above his head, clouds stretched from horizon to horizon, heavy and grey and pregnant with more snow to come. Already, the ground was covered in a thick layer of it, which crunched beneath Richard's sturdy boots every time that he moved; other than the sounds that he made himself, he could hear little else. He was surrounded on all sides by the most beautiful scenery that he’d seen in a long time, the Bregenzerwaldgebirge rearing up to puncture the sky with their white-tipped peaks, whilst forests rolled dark and green and snow-capped around him.

The air was crisp and clean, so unlike the air that Richard was used to in Berlin; he inhaled appreciatively, before he fouled the air a little by dragging on his cigarette and sending a plume of nicotine tinged breath up to the skies. He closed his eyes momentarily and turned his face upwards; he felt the soft kissing of snowflakes against his skin and he smiled despite himself. Even though he didn’t like the cold, he liked the quietude that such a peaceful surround offered him.

Rammstein were holed up in a remote studio situated in the forests that overlooked Bezau, which comprised a smart and cosy complex of log cabins; one of the cabins was the designated sleeping area, and was fully equipped with a kitchen-cum-living area. One of the cabins belonged to the producer and owner of the studios, Bob Adams, an emigre from England, who lived within its small yet cosy confines. The remaining cabin in the complex was the all important studio itself, where a sixteen track mixing desk took pride of place in the producer’s booth. Richard had been told that there even was a swimming pool onsite, yet he hadn’t bothered to seek it out; after all, he knew that in December, it would be covered over anyway, only exposed to the light of day when summer rolled around and warmer weather held sway over the mountains. 

“You’re not going to start catching snowflakes on your tongue, are you?” Paul asked suddenly from nearby, deep voice warm and dark with his amusement.

Richard snorted despite himself; he’d been surprised by Paul’s sudden arrival, as he hadn’t heard the man’s approach. Either he’d been too engrossed in his own thoughts or Paul really was lighter in treading across the snow than Richard himself was. 

“No, I’ll just leave you to do that, in my place,” Richard said, without either opening his eyes or tilting his head down to stare at Paul. “That's more your sort of thing, I would have thought.” 

Paul’s only response was to laugh, and Richard finally tilted his head down to stare at the other man at close range. He had to smile suddenly at the sight of his lover, cuddled up cosily in the thickest coat that Richard had ever seen, whilst a thick woollen scarf was wrapped snugly around Paul’s neck. A hat that matched the scarf was pulled down low over Paul’s head, so that the tips of his ears were covered by the soft brim of it and although Richard could not see the other man’s hands, due to them being shoved deeply into Paul’s pockets, he assumed that Paul also was wearing a thick pair of gloves. Despite his precautions against the cold, Paul’s cheeks and the tip of his nose were still red and cold-bitten, lending him the air of a particularly jolly, and cute, little elf. 

“What’s so funny?” Paul asked, as he stared at Richard, lips curling into a soft little smile despite his curiosity. 

“You look cute, all wrapped up like you are,” Richard replied, deigning to actually go so far as to call Paul an elf.

He wasn’t sure that that little epithet would be received very well, despite the fact that he meant it as a compliment. 

“I’m not sure I like being called cute, Reesh. I prefer stunningly handsome, and dashing, personally,” Paul said, with a laugh.

“Ordinarily, you are, but the way you’re dressed now, you’re too cute for that,” Richard insisted.

“Smooth, Kruspe, real smooth,” Paul said, as he stepped a little closer towards Richard. “Anyway, are you coming back inside? It’s getting late. We’ve got an early start in the morning; you know you’ll be complaining if you don’t get enough sleep.” 

Richard grunted, nodded, and tilted his still half finished cigarette in Paul’s direction. 

“Just let me finish this, and I'll be right in,” he said, before he stuffed the cigarette resolutely between his lips again.

He inhaled sharply, cheeks hollowing out as he did so; he felt Paul’s gaze heavy and watchful upon him, and he glanced over at the other man, at the way that Paul’s gaze was trained solely upon Richard’s mouth. Richard huffed out a dry laugh from around his cigarette, before he held out the pack towards Paul.

“Want one?” he asked.

“Don’t mind if I do, if you’re offering,” Paul said, as he took one with a nod of thanks in Richard's direction. 

Richard watched as Paul eased his lighter from his pocket, and flicked it into flaring light; the flame illumined Paul’s face momentarily, turned the pale skin warm and danced in his eyes for the few seconds it took the cigarette to catch. Then the lighter flicked closed and Paul and Richard both were plunged into partial darkness again. They stood in silence and watched as a shooting star flared across the sky, trailing a long trail behind it. Richard sighed and his lips quirked into a smile when he felt Paul’s hand fold warmly around his own. Richard had been right about the gloves; he could feel the soft and fluffy nap of one of them warm and soft against his palm; he squeezed Paul’s hand gently but said nothing. Instead, they exchanged smiles and continued to smoke in silence, until their cigarettes were gone and had been extinguished in the snow.

****

Paul followed Richard inside, unzipping his jacket as the first blast of warmth flowed across his body. He unwound the scarf from around his neck and hung both garments up on the coat-hooks beside the door. He watched and waited as Richard shrugged out of his coat and hung it beside Paul’s, before they made their way into the lounge; only Olli seemed still to be awake, engrossed in a handheld computer game, shielded mostly from view by the bassist’s hands.

“Hey, Olli, you alright?” Paul asked, as he perched upon the arm of the sofa to stare down the length of the bassist’s body.

Olli glanced up and grinned at Paul, before he nodded.

“Yup, going to bed soon,” he said, as quietly as he ever did. 

“Yeah, us too, in a minute,” Paul said, as Richard wandered over to lay one hand upon his shoulder.

Paul turned his head to lay kisses against Richard's knuckles, smiling against the other man’s hands when Olli made amused retching noises. 

“Go to bed, if you’re going,” the bassist said, even as he turned his grin back to his game. “Don’t be all disgusting in front of me, please.” 

“It’s not disgusting,” Richard said, in surprise, even as Paul laughed. “Why is it disgusting?”

“He’s jealous, Reesh; don’t worry about it. Come on then, lover, let’s just do as the man says,” Paul said, even as he stood and towed Richard out of the room by the hand. 

Olli sent a satisfied, mock relieved sigh after them, before he bade them an amused goodnight.

****

That night, Richard found it hard to sleep, mind restless and thoughts running at twice their normal speed. Beside him, Paul slept, seemingly oblivious to Richard's continued wakeful state; Paul’s chest rose and fell rhythmically, breaths deep and even as the occasional light snore squeaked out from between parted lips. Richard turned on his back and stared at the ceiling, yet sleep, it seemed, still was not forthcoming.

All around him the cabin lay mostly silent; he could hear faint movements from Till’s room and wondered if the other man was also having trouble sleeping. Across the hall, it sounded as though Schneider was singing in his sleep and Richard cursed when he realised that the drummer was singing a Justin Bieber song. 

In the end, Richard rose, feet slapping heftily against the carpet and he hissed slightly at the unexpected coolness of it. He shuffled his feet slightly and finally found a pair of slippers he always kept by the side of the bed, before he stood and made his way over to the window. He eased the curtain across slightly and peered out into the moan-soaked vistas outside; it still was snowing, despite the gap in the clouds that allowed the moon to shine through. Each flake was fat and heavy and settled firmly upon the ground, sticking to the snow that had already fallen. Richard heard the bed creaking behind him, and he partially turned to throw a glance over his shoulder at the other man; Paul was propped up on one elbow, staring groggily at him. Paul’s hair was mussed and sticking out in tufts around his face, and his eyes were still pouchy with sleep. 

“What are you doing up, Reesh? Come back to bed,” Paul said, with a yawn that bisected his weary face. 

“Can’t sleep,” Richard replied, with a shrug.

“Well, standing at the window won’t change matters. Come back to bed and let’s snuggle,” Paul said, as he lifted the sheets and patted the mattress with his free hand. “Come on, Reesh, while the bed’s still warm.”

Richard grunted, nodded, and turned back to the window again; he stiffened when he thought he saw movement by the tree-line at the edge of the clearing, deep shadow moving against even deeper shadows beneath the tree coverage.

“What the hell was that?” Richard asked, in surprise.

“What the hell was what?” Paul asked, but it didn’t sound as though the other man was prepared to move, to join him at the window.

“Something moved in the trees,” Richard replied, but he didn‘t turn around again.

“It was probably a wolf or a bear or something,” Paul said, with another yawn. “Or whatever kind of animals wander these forests. Forget about it, Reesh, and come back to bed.”

Richard didn’t immediately move; instead, he continued staring out at the tress, yet whatever had moved beneath their shade had seemingly already moved on. The trees, and the clearing that surrounded the cabins was empty and still once more. He couldn’t even hear anything anymore, either outside the cabin or within. 

“Richard, get that perfect arse of yours in bed this instant,” Paul said, and he sounded a little more wakeful, a little more aggrieved than he had previously.

Richard finally allowed the curtain to swing closed, before he turned resolutely away from the window. Even though he was convinced that perhaps Paul was right, and it was some kind of Austrian animal out there., somehow, some niggling doubt still persisted inside him, as though there was something else, something other than a wolf or a bear lurking in the shadows. He sighed and decided to put the entire thing from his mind; puzzles would only keep him awake for longer and would not help matters. He slid beneath the covers with a sigh, and felt Paul settle them over them both before the other man settled close, eyes drooping half closed as he stared at Richard at close range. 

Paul’s mouth curved into a sleepy smile, and his eyes drooped halfway closed again; Richard smiled and settled a little closer to Paul, and his arm slid about the other man’s waist. Paul made an encouraging noise, as though to say the new position was an improvement on the previous one, and his smile curved at his mouth more deeply, before Paul’s lips puckered slightly. Richard knew that expression well; Paul was silently asking for a kiss, an expression that always made the other man look comical, yet no less cute for it. He sighed, and leant in, nose rubbing gently against Paul’s, before he bestowed a proper kiss upon Paul’s mouth; he felt Paul respond, lips warm and gentle against his own, soft kisses turning hard and eager.

Richard was surprised when Paul maneuvered him onto his back, before Paul laid atop him, erection pressing against Richard’s hip. Richard felt a surge of arousal at that, at the way that Paul was demonstrating an unusual need to take control; both men were usually content for Richard to take top position in bed. Richard groaned and rested his hands upon Paul’s hips, caressing the swell of the other man’s buttocks when Paul began to grind against him.

“Paulchen, please,” Richard panted out, breath blasting hot and needy from between his lips, hard enough to stir Paul’s hair upon the side of his head. “Please.”

He wasn’t entirely certain what he was begging for, exactly, but he knew he wanted something, anything more than what currently was happening. Paul’s sudden groan came out as a strangled sob of pleasure as though the other man enjoyed the fact that Richard was actually begging for more; Richard felt another stir of arousal winding through his gut at that and he pressed harshly down against Paul’s butt, fingers kneading and caressing as Paul continued to move against him. Richard made louder, more insistently pleading noises, and Paul finally rolled away, albeit reluctantly, to leave bed. He returned from digging around in his suitcase with lube and condoms,.

Richard watched, idly stroking himself whilst Paul uncapped the lube and began to stroke some of it on to his fingers; Richard was still stroking himself when Paul reached between his legs and circled his entrance with one slick finger. Richard's eyes closed and tightened when he felt the first breach of a finger, a pained gasp leaking unbidden from his lips, which came louder when Paul stopped and waited. Eventually, Paul began moving again, slowly at first, before he added another finger when he was certain that Richard was ready for it. Finally, Richard felt Paul’s hand easing away and he mourned the loss of it and the pleasure-fill pressure that it gave him. 

Richard’s hand fell away, fingers dead and useless now, cock achingly hard and untended; he opened his eyes and watched as Paul swiftly rolled on a condom and settled atop him, hand reaching down to guide himself into Richard. Richard cried out at first intrusion, hands clamping down harshly against Paul’s butt, pressing him in deeper when Paul took too long to slide in. Paul laughed breathlessly at that and bestowed kisses upon Richard's cheeks and lips, hips moving once Richard had settled comfortably around him. Richard lost everything then, all sense of self and purpose as Paul begin rolling his hips deep and hard against him; Paul usually was gentler, slower and more tender whilst making love, yet that night, Paul seemed particularly urgent and needy, hands seeming to not know where to touch first on Richard's body, hips rolling deep and harsh and fast against Richard.

Richard cried out in arousal, cursed, yelled Paul’s name, as he reached between them and began touching himself again; he managed only a few strokes before he came, spilling out across his palm and their abdomens, Paul's name squeezed out past the lump of lust that had lodged in his throat. Paul rode him harder, incoherent murmurs barked out past choked moans and then he released, hips erratic and jerking as he rode his climax to the last. Paul rolled away once it was over, moving only to dispose of the condom once he’d rolled it off; he returned, warm and heavy and languid against Richard’s side again. Richard felt the wet press of Paul’s lips against his shoulder, and the pleasantly scratchy tickle of the other man’s beard against his skin. 

“Thank you,” Paul said, quietly against his shoulder.

“I should be thanking you,” Richard laughed, as he reached up to scrub one hand affectionately over the curve of Paul’s shoulder. “That was fucking fantastic.”

“Hmm,” Paul sleepily agreed, eyelids seemingly too heavy to stay open.

His face turned lax and sleepy, lips parting as his breathing deepened; Richard watched him for a while, hand rising to drag one thumb across the swell of Paul’s lower lip. Paul smiled at the contact, yet he did not open his eyes; instead, his breathing deepened ever more until he was fully asleep. Richard huffed in disbelieving amusement at how fast Paul could always go to sleep after love-making; he sighed and settled still closer, arranged his body around Paul’s and dragged the covers more comfortably around them both. Paul moved when he did that, a small noise of protest leaking past sleeping lips, yet Richard kissed the protest away and settled comfortably against the other man. He felt Paul relax by degrees against him again, hand creeping up to shore in the proximity of Richard’s shoulder-blades, fingers dragging and catching in Richard's t shirt as though Paul was frightened to let him go. Richard pressed one last goodnight kiss against Paul’s still sweating forehead, before he closed his eyes and drifted away on the wings of sleep. He knew no more for the rest of the night.

****


	2. Chapter 2

****

The following evening, Paul found Richard outside again, staring out towards the edge of the forest that bordered the clearing. It didn't seem, to Paul, as though Richard was truly looking at anything, judging by the intensity of his thousand-mile-stare, and the musing look upon his face that had both lips and brows curving down slightly. Paul watched him for a while, at the way that Richard still puffed at his cigarette rhythmically despite his obvious distraction, at the relaxed state of his shoulders and his general pose, at the slight up-tilt to his nose that always seemed more noticeable in profile. Then Paul suddenly saw Richard’s mouth curve into a smile and the other man shot him a sidelong glance, teeth showing in a sudden grin. 

“You’re staring, Paulchen,” Richard said, breath clouding from his mouth with the cold and the smoke that he breathed out on exhale. 

“Can you blame me?” Paul asked, as he grinned unapologetically at the other man.

“Not really,” Richard replied, as he tilted a wink at Paul.

“Modest as well as handsome. Nice,” Paul said, dryly.

“I thought you knew this by now,” Richard said, as he offered his hand for Paul to hold.

Paul huffed out a brief laugh and took it, before he folded his fingers around Richard's own; he felt the other man squeeze his fingers affectionately even though Richard didn’t say anything. Paul always loved the times when they gently teased one another, comfortable enough in each other's presence by now to know what to say, and how to say it without causing offence; years in the band, and of long friendship had lent them that much, and the last few years of a deeper and more intimate relationship had strengthened their teasing and shared jokes. Paul felt a flutter in his chest then, that he knew was love and he smiled at Richard, an expression which Richard himself caught and returned, even though his grin was a little puzzled by comparison.

“What’s so funny?” Richard asked. 

“Love is,” Paul replied, with a slight huff of laughter. 

“I wouldn’t have said love was funny, Paul,” Richard said, confusion deepening. “More ... kinda nice, actually, once you have it.”

“And do you have it?” Paul couldn’t help but ask.

“Stupid question, Paul,” Richard huffed. “If you don’t know the answer to that by now, then I can’t help you.” 

“I’m gonna take that as a yes,” Paul said, knowing that that was Richard's obscure way of saying - _I love you_ \- without emasculating himself. “It’s alright to say it, you know.”

“I know,” Richard said, and there was slight sadness beneath his seriousness then, and he squeezed Paul’s fingers again. “You know, anyway. Words mean nothing. Everything else means more.”

Paul had to laugh at that, despite the fact that he knew what Richard meant; even though Richard rarely said that he loved Paul, it was there to see in every glance, every expression and smile, every kiss, caress and hug, and every time they made love. Paul knew, that in a way, Richard was right; words could be fabricated and forged, yet actions, genuine ones at that, never could be faked. 

“Yes,” was all that Paul said in the face of Richard's logic.

Richard seemed to know what he was thinking for he smiled, that beautiful grin that always appeared whenever Richard was at his most unguarded. Paul felt a little sad, when he thought that it wasn’t often that he saw that truly unguarded grin of Richard’s; he sighed, sending a plume of breath arcing up towards the skies, even as it began to snow again, softly at first, clouds sending tiny flakes spiraling and spinning down to the ground. Neither man spoke; instead, they stood in silence and watched as the snow continued to fall, to thicken into great feat flakes that settled and clung to the drifts already piled upon the ground. Paul turned when he heard the door to the cabin open nearby, before Flake’s head peeped out from around the wooden barrier.

“Best hurry up; dinner’s almost ready and Till’s already threatening to eat it all,” Flake said, but his face was creased into a frown instead of a smile.

“Okay, we’ll be there in a minute,” Paul replied, with a nod and watched as Flake popped back inside the cabin with a nod of his own. 

Paul glanced at Richard, yet the other man still seemed far away and lost in his own thoughts, cigarette burnt down only halfway. Richard caught the other man looking at him and smiled a little faraway smile.

“You go in, Paulchen,” he said, softly as he lifted the cigarette into mid-air. “I’ll follow once I’ve finished this.”

Paul knew better than to argue with the other man; whenever Richard worked himself up into one of his morose moods, it was never wise to argue with him or try to talk him out of it. All Paul could do was show patience, and understanding. He nodded and leant in to press a kiss against Richard's cheek, which at least made the other man laugh and it sounded genuine. 

“Get along with you, Paul,” Richard said, but he sounded affectionate and warm and not quite so morose anymore.

Paul nodded, patted Richard's butt and walked away; he glanced back only once and saw that Richard closely watching his retreat, a fond smile upon his face that didn’t disappear when Richard caught Paul staring at him. They shared winks before Paul plunged inside the cabin and joined the others at the table, where the dinner was just being served up.

****

Richard felt sadness wash over him at the departure of Paul, even though he’d sent the other man away. Things always seemed darker whenever his partner wasn’t there, as though by his sheer presence, Paul could keep the worst of the darkness away and perhaps he could. Richard thought of the things that Paul had started to say, about love; Richard had to smile at that, even as his heart constricted a little in what he thought must be love in turn. 

He sighed and felt a little of the sadness he almost always carried with him recede a little; he stuck his rapidly burning cigarette between his lips again and took a deep drag, eyes closing with the effort of it. He held onto his smoky mouthful for a few moments, savouring it, before he sent the whole lot out in a billowing cloud that arced towards the sky and seemed to separate around the flakes that were falling. Richard blinked some of the flakes away from his eyelashes and in so doing, caught movement at the edge of the clearing again. 

He frowned; he thought that the movement was in the exact same place that he’d seen it in the previous night. On impulse, he walked away from the porch that butted up against the side of the cabin and cast his gaze across to where the room that he shared with Paul was. He followed his line of sight from the night before and found that his first guess was pretty accurate. Richard stuck his cigarette back between his lips again and shoved his cold hands into his pockets, as he began the track across the clearing to investigate more closely as to what had attracted his attention. Even though he knew that dinner was likely to get cold and that Paul, more so than the others, would worry about his prolonged absence, his curiosity was too much to ignore. 

When he reached the edge of the clearing, he found that whatever it was that he’d seen moving had gone, yet he found traces of footsteps scuffed in the snow, and scattered pine needles further in beneath the trees. He bent with a frown; the prints were definitely human and not an animal as he’d first thought it might be. He frowned deeper still and looked up when he heard a slight sound from nearby; that was when darkness descended and he knew no more.

****


	3. Chapter 3

Paul fiddled with his fork, twirling long lengths of spaghetti around the tines aimlessly; he’d found that his appetite had long since deserted him since Richard had not joined the rest of the band at the table. Paul wondered, and snot for the first time, where Richard was, and why it was taking him so long to join them. Even a morose Richard needed his food, and he, like all of them, had not eaten since lunch time. Bob had deigned to eat with them, preferring instead to eat with his family in his own cabin next to the band’s.

Across the table, Olli was watching Paul calmly, but wasn’t saying anything; on either side of the quiet bassist, Till and Flake were arguing about one of the songs. Paul was barely listening to the heated conversation, thoughts too caught up with the missing Richard, to take in much more than the odd snatched phrase - _‘shitty bass-lines’_ , and _‘crap lyrics’_ and _‘keyboard riffs that sound like a bag of shit falling downstairs in slow motion’_ being some of the choice ones that Paul actually managed to catch. Finally, Olli’s voice cut through the general melee. 

“Where’s Richard?” he asked, and that silenced Till and Flake quicker than a screamed curse could.

On Paul’s other side, Schneider relaxed visibly, obviously a little perturbed about the continuing argument that had kept the rest of them silent and in fear of their general heads. 

“I don’t know,” Paul replied, and it was all that he could say to Olli‘s question. 

“He’s been a little morose today, hasn’t he?” Schneider observed and Paul was glad that it wasn’t just him that had noticed that fact. 

“I thought he was just bored,” Flake said, with a shrug of slim shoulders. 

“You’re the one who’s bored,” Till said, and it seemed as though the argument was going to break out afresh.

“Enough with the arguing, guys,” Paul said, sharply, pushing his chair away from the table with a loud scrape.

The argument fell silent and everyone stared at him; Olli and Schneider in particular looked as though they’d been verbally berated for some minor misdemeanor, all large, soft eyes and puckered lips that were in danger of forming pouts. 

“Fuck this; I’m going to look for Richard,” Paul said, as he angrily wiped at his mouth with his napkin and tossed the crumpled paper onto the tabletop.

He stalked away, worry for Richard tempering his growing irritation with the previous argument and general bad atmosphere that had held sway over the dinner table. Paul’s spaghetti sat like a heavy weight in his stomach, and the sauce had turned into sour bile that burned at the back of his throat. Whilst it was not often that he ever truly got angry, he knew that he was apt to go like a rocket and hit the roof whenever anger gripped him. 

“Maybe we should help,” Olli suggested and Paul heard the large bassist scraping his own chair back.

He was glad for the familiar tall lines of Olli’s body next to his own as the bassist joined him, even if Olli didn’t immediately say a word. Paul nodded up at him, and caught Olli’s brief, yet still nice, smile.

“Thanks, Olli,” Paul said, quietly.

Olli nodded silently back at him, even as Schneider joined them, Till and Flake in noisy pursuit. They made their way through the doorway to the porch outside, yet Paul was surprised to see that Richard was not in the place where he’d left him. He frowned and cast his gaze out over towards the tree-line, just as Olli laid a hand upon his shoulder and pointed with his free one.

“Look, Paul, footsteps,” Olli said, urgently, and Paul saw them, arcing away from where Richard had been standing and heading towards the far tree-line.

They already were starting to fill in with the falling snow, yet Paul was grateful that they hadn’t filled in completely, giving them some clue as to what had happened to Richard and the direction that he‘d headed in. Paul followed the dark gashes in the snow, and cried out when he saw a crumpled shape by the trees. He took off at a run, boots sending up clouds of snow scuffing up into the air, legs and arms pumping as he all but flew to Richard’s side. Richard, it seemed, had recently been rendered unconscious, only just now stirring into groggy wakefulness.

“What the fuck happened?” Richard asked, voice as groggy as his still rapidly blinking eyes, as he stared up into Paul’s face from where he still lay motionless upon his back.

“I could ask the same of you,” Paul said, as he knelt beside Richard, snow cold and wet against the knees of his jeans.

He was glad to see that Richard tracked his movements well, proving that he’d suffered any serious damage through what had happened to him.

“Can you sit?” Paul asked, as he laid one hand upon Richard’s broad shoulder.

“I think so,” Richard said, as he began to struggle up into a sitting position.

Paul steadied him against what seemed like a pretty bad bout of dizziness, before he said - “Easy, liebchen, take it easy.”

Till snorted nearby, yet Paul ignored him; Till always snorted whenever one or the other of them directed words of endearment towards each other, as though Till had never heard the words before, or thought them stupid or puerile. 

Richard finally sat, one hand rising to rub at his head; Paul kept one hand upon the other man’s back for support, whilst his other hand rubbed life into Richard’s snow-chilled arm. Richard gave him a sideways look and started to smile, and that was when Paul knew that his lover was alright. There was that flash of a genuine grin again, that Paul had been mourning the loss of earlier in the evening, even though it was tempered with relieved gratitude.

“Are you okay, Reesh?” Paul asked, even as Richard reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m okay, I suppose,” Richard replied, even as he pushed heavily down with his hand, silently asking for support. 

Paul nodded, and held him whilst the other man stood; both Olli and Schneider crowded in when it seemed as though the guitarist’s legs were about to give way beneath him. Richard nodded at them and frowned, silently telling them that he didn’t need them. Only Paul remained by his side, and only Paul, it seemed, was permitted to remain there. Paul himself felt grateful for that, and kept one supportive arm around Richard's waist; Richard's arm soon slid across his shoulders, yet Paul suspected that it was just as much for comfort as it was for support. 

Paul listened as Richard recounted what had happened, about seeing movement by the side of the clearing, of going to investigate, and of being hit over the head with something heavy.

“So there’s someone here?” Flake asked, as he turned interested eyes upon the trees, as though he expected to see whoever it had been to step out from beneath their shade and speak to them.

Paul wasn’t surprised when nothing happened; whoever it had been was probably long gone, a sentiment that was repeated and brought to spoken life by Schneider. 

“Maybe we should tell Bob,” Olli said, quietly. 

Paul wondered silently what the producer could even do to help them when the danger had all but passed, yet he remained silent when the others nodded, agreeing to Olli’s suggestion more readily than Paul would have expected.

“Maybe we should,” Schneider agreed. “In the morning. Let him know that we need extra security.” 

“I doubt we need that,” Till retorted, with a frown.

“Look what happened to Reesh, Till,” Paul said, sharply, seeing the sense in the drummer‘s words. “What if something worse had happened to him than a mere bang on the head? Something still might to any of us; then who’ll be crying for extra security?”

Till raised both hands in a placating gesture, but it didn’t look as though he was deliberately mocking Paul; instead, it looked to Paul as though something in his words had hit home and that Till even agreed with him.

“I’m going to take Reesh inside,” Paul said, when no one else said or did a thing. “He needs to lay down.” 

“And you’re gonna mother him, no doubt, Paul,” Till couldn’t stop himself from saying.

“I wouldn’t object to that, actually,” Richard said, even as he allowed Paul to lead him inside.

Even Till laughed at Richard’s spirited retort, as the band made their way inside the cabin where it was warm, and the remainder of their meal still waited for them. Flake complained about the temperature of his spaghetti, now a cold lump of slimy pasta and sticky sauce on his plate. His complaints faded out behind Paul and Richard as they made their way to the bedroom that they shared, and undressed for bed. They lay in the darkness for a while, Richard wrapped and supported by the warmth of Paul’s arms.

***

That night, their love-making was slow and tender, Richard's body in constant motion against Paul’s; Paul’s groans were low and guttural and full of need, which turned into relief upon release. Paul was smiling by the time that he fell asleep in Richard's arms, body a pleasant ache, yet he couldn’t have known, trapped tight within the realms of sleep as he was, that Richard didn’t sleep a wink all night.

****


	4. Chapter 4

****

Paul shuffled through to the living room, with a sleepy yawn filling his face; he was freshly washed, hair still damp and apple-scented from his shower, dark strands turned darker still with the water trapped within them. Olli was already sitting at the breakfast table with Schneider; both men were talking quietly and looked up when Paul entered the room.

“Where’s lover-boy?” Schneider asked, as he glanced quickly over Paul's shoulder, as though he expected to see Richard directly behind him. “I’m surprised you haven’t brought him with you.”

“Reesh? He’s still asleep,” Paul said.. 

“Still asleep? Why? Did you tire him out?” Schneider asked, as he leered at Paul.

“We tired each other out last night, as it happens. Reesh was insatiable. I don't know why you need to know this, Chris,” Paul said, with a grin hidden by a swiftly raised hand. 

“You keep that to yourself,” Schneider immediately said, with a shudder. 

“You did ask,” Olli pointed out, with a smile of his own. “How is Richard this morning, anyway, Paul?”

“He’s okay,” Paul replied, as he slumped heavily into the seat directly beside Olli at the table. “He was still asleep when I left him; I didn’t want to wake him.” 

“Good,” Olli said, with a nod. 

Paul sighed and lifted the cup of coffee that had previously sat before the bassist.

“Thanks, Olli, by the way,” Paul said, as he took a sip, eyes smiling at the bassist from over the top of the mug.

“And you couldn’t get your own coffee for what reason, now, Paulchen?” Olli asked, mildly as Schneider snorted with sudden laughter across the table.

Paul laughed, before he handed the mug back to Olli and stood, to pour a steaming coffee of his own.

****

Richard didn’t appear until mid-afternoon, face considerably paler than it usually was, eyes shadowed and a little pouched still with sleep. He grimaced at the influx of light that streamed in through the window, despite the fact that the sky was heavy with grey snow-clouds still and fat white flakes flickered and danced their way down to the ground. He hastily pulled the curtains and switched on the light when loud complaints came from the rest of the band. 

“Jesus, you look like shit, Reesh,” Till said, once his eyes had adjusted to the new light.

“Thanks, Till, you really know how to make a guy feel good about his appearance, y’know?” Richard immediately said, proving that despite his outward appearances, he’d lost none of his sass. 

“Seriously though, you don’t look good. Are you okay?” Paul asked, padding forward on slippered feet to stare askance into Richard's face.

It looked as though Richard was about to protest, to throw an acerbic comment into Paul’s face perhaps, yet his expression softened beneath the weight of the other man’s concern and the expected sassy asides never materialized. Instead, he sighed and propped his hands upon Paul’s hips and shook his head.

“Just feel like shit, today, liebchen,” he said, quietly. “Must be coming down with something; the ‘flu perhaps. I’ll be right as rain in no time, you’ll see.”

“The ‘flu? I don’t want to catch that from you, thanks,” Flake said, as he shuffled away from Richard’s immediate vicinity. 

“If anyone’s gonna catch anything from Richard, it’ll be Paul,” Till chimed in, as a way to reassure the alarmed looking keyboardist. “He’s caught everything else from Richard.”

“Not funny, Till,” Paul said, but without taking his eyes from Richard’s neck. “Did you something bite you, Reesh? There’s a couple of red marks on your neck.”

He reached up to press his fingertips against the edge of the marks upon Richard's neck; two bright red welts decorated the skin there, slightly puffy-looking and raised from the rest of his neck. Paul winced despite himself, even as Richard shrugged nonchalantly. 

“What? Oh, they’re probably mosquito bites,” Richard said. “I saw them earlier, in the bathroom. Funny thing was, though, I couldn’t shave properly; I couldn’t seem to focus on my own reflection.”

“It’s probably this ’flu thing you’ve got. Either that or you were drunk,” Till said, with an arch lift one eyebrow. 

“You were drinking without us? Why didn’t you share that shit with the rest of us?” Schneider immediately said, even as he stepped closer to stare at the marks on Richard’s neck. 

“We weren’t drinking,” Paul said, irritably, even as Olli stared at the marks, too. 

“Are you sure they were mosquitoes?” the bassist asked. “I didn’t think they were active in cold temperatures. Maybe in the summer, perhaps, but now? Not so much.”

“Well, I don’t know what else it could have been,” Richard said with a shrug.

“Could be a vampire,” Flake said, without even moving from where he’d installed himself upon the couch.

“Vampire,” Paul snorted. “They don’t exist, Flake.” 

“Don’t be so sure,” Flake said, enigmatically, just as Bob, the producer wandered in, fresh from his cigarette break outside. 

“Oh, Sir Kruspe graces us with his fragrant presence, at last, I see,” Bob said, as he settled himself in his chair before the mixing desk. “Sit yourself down somewhere, Richard, whilst Christoph gets his arse back behind those bloody drums.” 

“Yes, sir, going, sir, behind the drums, sir,” Schneider, said, as he twirled his drumsticks experimentally in Bob's direction. 

He left, but Richard barely noticed; he’d already turned to the producer. 

“What’s happening about extra security, Bob?” he asked. “I suppose the guys told you what happened?”

“They did. We don’t need it,” Bob said, without taking his eyes from the mixing desk.

Richard glanced round at the rest of the band, gaze finally coming to rest upon Paul’s face. Like the others before him, Paul looked frustrated, yet he merely shrugged in Richard's direction, in a gesture of utter futile helplessness. Richard turned back and saw that the producer’s body had taken on a stiff, almost defensive posture. 

“What d’you mean - we don’t need security?” Richard asked, his voice sharp and cracking with his anger. 

“What I said - we don’t need it,” Bob replied, just as angrily, just as sharply. “If you stay within the cabins, you should be fine. Safe.”

“We can’t - “ Richard began, but Flake cut him off wearily.

“Leave it, Reesh. You won’t win. None of us will. We tried,” he said, and he shot Bob an evil look behind his back.

Richard’s jaw clenched in his anger, but he gave Flake a sharp nod of capitulation. He stalked away, and slumped down beside Paul on the sofa; his eyes bored holes in the producer’s back, yet Bob took little notice of him. Instead, the other man directed his attention solely upon Schneider and his drums.

****

Richard did little that afternoon but lounge on the sofa that was installed in the back of the producer’s booth, Paul at his side. Richard’s feet were propped comfortably in Paul’s lap, whilst Paul contented himself with reading, book propped against Richard's legs. Occasionally he would glance up to check whether Richard was alright; Richard, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be sleeping, chest rising and falling rhythmically, face covered mostly by the largest, softest pillow he could find. Paul couldn’t help but worry over Richard; the other man could be distinctly cranky when he was ill. 

In a way, Paul was glad when the day was finally over, as much for the fact that it had been long and boring, with little to do except watch Schneider drumming for hours, as well as for the fact that it meant that Richard could return to bed, to curl up between the sheets and sleep off whatever bug he’d picked up in the forest’s edge. Surprisingly, Richard didn’t return to bed when once they‘d returned to their bedroom; instead, he seemed too restless, in constant motion within the confines of the room. Paul grew tired of watching the other man pacing the room, dark-haired head seemingly counting out the paces between one wall and the other. Richard was beginning to start to make him feel a little dizzy, as well as sick and a little irritated. 

“Are you coming to bed or not?” Paul asked, eventually, irritation creeping into his voice at that. 

“Yeah, in a minute,” Richard replied, but his voice was distracted, eyes a little unfocussed when he threw a hazy smile in Paul’s direction.

“No, now, Reesh,” Paul said, tone snapping a little beneath the weight of his anger. “You’re starting to get on my nerves with your constant, ceaseless pacing.”

That stopped Richard in in his tracks and the other man turned a surprised look upon Paul, eyes wide, lips parted, before his expression caved and softened around the edges, eyes taking on a wounded, soft look. 

“Please, lover, come to bed,” Paul said, gentler that time. 

Richard grunted and gave Paul a sharp nod, before he finally fished his pyjamas from his side of the bed. He didn’t bother going into the en-suite bathroom to change; instead, he stripped in front of Paul, every item of clothing carefully laid upon the bed to reveal expanses of naked skin. Paul couldn't help but stare appreciatively, even though he felt a little worried at the sight of Richard's body. Gone were the tanned skin tones he was used to seeing; instead, Richard’s skin was as pale as a moonlit night, yet still as healthy looking as usual. He reached out, pressed exploratory palms flat against the broad expanse of Richard's chest, expecting to feel heat from a fever burning beneath the other man’s skin. Despite the fact that Richard laughed at the contact, and pressed one affectionate hand against one of Paul’s own, Paul couldn’t detect any hint of fever anywhere on Richards body. If anything, the other man was cooler than usual, skin smooth and unblemished. 

Even the bites upon Richard's neck had all but disappeared throughout the course of the afternoon, and Paul ran the pads of his fingertips across his lover’s throat; he couldn't even feel the bumps where they’d been. Richard then distracted him, by lifting Paul’s hand away from his neck and pressing kisses against Paul’s knuckles. Paul felt Richard nipping at the flesh of his palm when he pressed kisses there too, and he shuddered beneath the intensity in the other man’s eyes. That Richard was aroused was obvious; given Richard's currently naked state, Paul couldn‘t miss Richard's erection. 

“Come to bed,” Paul said, with an aroused grin, as he lifted the covers with his free hand.

Richard nodded and paused only once to retrieve the lube from they’d dropped it beneath the bed the night before. Paul settled himself upon a small pile of pillows, and waited for the other man to join him beneath the sheets. He closed his eyes and forgot about odd skin tones and chill skin and disappearing bite marks when Richard began preparing him, fingers dipping and curving inside him, making Paul cry out with his growing arousal. Richard's hand dropped away once he was confident that Paul was prepared and ready for him; Paul waited, impatiently, until Richard laid atop him, positioned himself between his legs and guided himself inside Paul's body. Richard barely waited for Paul to adjust before he began thrusting eagerly into Paul's body; Paul could feel the blasts of Richard's aroused breaths against his shoulder, and felt the intense grip of his hands against his hips. Paul mourned the loss of seeing Richard's face then, at the arousal that undoubtedly was lax in his jaw and dark in his eye. Paul cried out in surprise when he felt the first sharp bite of Richard's teeth against the soft flesh of his shoulder; Richard was not usually one to bite during sex, yet Paul found that he liked it, as arousal raced through every nerve that he had.

He begged Richard to repeat the gesture and Richard soon did so, teeth sinking deeper into Paul’s shoulder and Paul cried out louder that time, hand moving swiftly over his cock as he did so. He felt Richard’s aroused moans vibrating through his shoulder, where the other man’s mouth still was attached to it; Paul even could feel the brief lap of Richard's tongue against his skin as though the other man was cleaning him, or possibly tasting him. Paul climaxed whilst Richard's mouth was still attached to his shoulder, and he barely was aware a few moments later of Richard's own climax. Richard eased away after he was fully sated and Paul slumped down, in Richard's embrace, and slipped into a blissful sleep, a smile still upon his face.

****


	5. Chapter 5

****

Richard watched as Paul slept in his arms, body heavy and lax, expression one of blissfully unaware dreaming. He reached up and stroked at Paul’s head, smoothing down the ruffled strands of the other man’s hair. He sighed and tried to sleep, yet he found that sleep was frustratingly out of reach no matter how hard he tried. He dared not stray too far from Paul’s side, for fear of disturbing the other man and potentially waking him, so instead he watched the way that the other man’s chest rose and fell, and listened to the small - _huff-huff-huff_ \- of the other man’s breathing. 

Richard could hear the sounds of footsteps outside, pacing up and down the corridor in a seemingly endless - _boom-boom-boom_ \- against the carpet; he frowned, and wondered who it could be that could making so much noise. Paul shifted in his sleep, and rolled partially away, enough so that Richard could slip out from beneath the covers and investigate. He clicked open the door, glad for the fact that there was no light shining in the corridor that separated the bedrooms; across the hallway, he could hear Olli sleeping, and murmuring softly in his dreaming state, something about not wanting _‘any more damned pastry, thank you.’_

Richard was surprised when he saw that there wasn’t anyone outside pacing the corridor, nor was there anyone doing the same in the living area. Richard frowned and returned to the cabin’s sleeping section, to stand outside everyone’s rooms. He could hear Olli still talking in his sleep, the faint sounds of Schneider’s restless dreaming, and the snores that emanated from Till’s and Flake’s rooms opposite form each other. Richard’s frown deepened and he returned to the room he shared with Paul, clicking the door quietly shut behind himself once more. He walked across the room and stared down at the still peacefully sleeping Paul; he watched the way that a shaft of moonlight lanced through a gap in the curtains to rest quietly upon Paul’s face. Again, he could hear that same steady _thump-thump-thump_ that had reminded Richard so much of feet hitting against carpet; he frowned and leaned closer to Paul, and the sound grew louder still; with a sense of horrified alarm, Richard realized that he could hear Paul’s heart beating steadily in his chest, loud and as clear as footsteps. 

Richard inhaled sharply, eyes dodging wildly around the room, seeking help from , he knew not whom and suddenly became aware that he could smell Paul, smell the blood that ran in his veins, smell the toothpaste that Paul had used before going to bed some time before; he could even smell the remnants of the soap and deodorant that Paul had used earlier that morning whilst taking his shower, which Richard knew to be impossible. Paul had showered at least twelve hours before, and usually Richard was only aware of the clean scents for about an hour afterwards. He wondered then if he was going mad, if there was something wrong with him, or if he still was dreaming and this was some kind of bizarre and surreal nightmare; he even wondered if he was getting a migraine. His senses usually were hyper-sensitive around the beginning of one of his migraine attacks; he sighed in frustration, when he realized that that wasn’t the answer either. He didn’t have the tell-tale encroaching nausea, nor the pressure that normally built up behind his eyes, nor the lights that usually disturbed and distorted his vision during the onset of a migraine.

He scrubbed his hand over his eyes, and turned away, as a sudden growl of hunger gripped at his stomach. He decided to get himself some food, and padded through to the well-appointed kitchen. He still could smell the remnants of the beef stew that the band had shared between them earlier in the evening, courtesy of Paul. He smiled over the memory of Schneider moaning about the lack of vegetarian fare, moments before Paul had presented him with a bowl of vegetable stew of his own, that he’d cooked in a separate pot on the stove. Schneider's grateful smile had been immediate and infinitely happy. 

Richard padded across the room to the fridge, opened the door and leant in to peer in at the chilly interior. He felt the light wash over him, stabbing at his eyes uncomfortably, even though the light in and of itself was not really all that bright. He scrubbed his fingers across his eyes, now sore and sensitive from the back-wash of light. He tried to pick out something, anything from the fridge that he could eat, but everything that he laid eyes or hands upon turned his stomach, and made him feel nauseous.

He wondered if perhaps he was coming down with a migraine after all, even though he still felt unaccountably hungry. He turned, catching the scent of Paul in the doorway and turned to stare at his lover hovering just inside where the door led out from the kitchen to the living area. Paul looked uncertain, worried, eyes resting intently upon Richard‘s back.

“Are you okay?” Paul asked, deep voice concerned and slow with the remnants of his sleep.

“Yeah, I'm just hungry. Sick, but hungry,” Richard said, with a too quick smile. “I didn’t wake you, did I, Paulchen? I’m sorry if I did.” 

“You didn’t,” Paul said, as he padded his way into the room and rubbed one hand across the warm expanse of Richard's back. “Are you sure you’re alright? You don’t look too good, actually, and you didn’t eat any of the stew at dinner.” 

Richard could only shrug and stare uncomfortably at him. 

“I dunno,” he said, unable to explain the growing hunger pangs that crowded their way through his abdomen and his feelings of disorientation regarding what was going on in his own head. “Probably my time of the month, y’know?”

“You know that makes no sense, right?” Paul said, even as a grin split his face and laughter tumbled from between his lips. 

Richard only laughed in return and crowded close to Paul, before he rested his hands upon the other man’s hips; Paul turned his face up to Richard's and smiled at close range at him, before Richard pecked kisses against Paul's lower lip and jaw, nuzzling at his partner’s neck tenderly and affectionately. He could smell clearly now the remnants of Paul’s cologne, so familiar and distinct to Paul himself that Richard could not help but think of his lover whenever he smelt it elsewhere. He could even smell the iron rich scent of Paul’s blood pulsing close to the surface of his skin; Richard's mouth watered and he couldn’t stop himself from biting down upon Paul’s neck, making Paul jerk away with a surprised, almost wounded cry.

“Jesus, but your teeth are sharp,” Paul complained, eyes wide as his finger clamped over thin trickle of blood upon his neck.

“I’m sorry,” Richard said, despite his own alarm. “I didn't do too much damage, did I?”

“I don’t think so,” Paul replied, as he lifted his fingers away.

Richard saw that he’d barely grazed the other man, although the twin scratches that he had inflicted were deep enough to send rills of blood across Paul’s skin. 

“You are a bit frisky tonight, aren’t you, Reesh?” Paul asked, even as a smile began to curve his lips. “I like it.” 

“Well, then, let’s go back to bed,” Richard said, with a quirk of his eyebrows. “And do something about that, before we wake everyone else up.” 

“I have a feeling we’ll wake everyone up anyway, at the rate you’re going,” Paul returned, even as he led Richard from the room. 

“We’ll see about that,” Richard said, as he allowed himself to be propelled into their bedroom, where they closed the door and collapsed laughing into bed.

Even as they made love, Richard could still taste the scant taste of Paul’s blood against his tongue, sweet and salty and faintly metallic all in one heady mix. He licked his lips and he knew that he wanted more of it, mind soon stripped bare by his climax, ears ringing with the sounds of Paul‘s own loud and aroused release.

****

Paul awoke sometime after three in the morning, body pleasantly aching from the love-making he’d shared with Richard in the night. Richard had proved himself to be particularly insatiable that night and whilst Paul had enjoyed it, he felt a little wiped out. He turned over in bed, and his hand fell upon where Richard should have been; the sheets where his lover had once lain were still warm so Paul knew that he couldn’t have left very long ago. 

The sound of Schneider suddenly yelling brought Paul from his bed, body spurting swiftly from between the sheets, and racing for the drummer’s room. Schneider was sitting up in bed, staring at the window, when Paul crowded in, Olli and Till his sleepy double shadows. Flake entered the room a few moments later, mouth filled with complaints over being woken so abruptly, yet none of the men in Schneider’s room took any notice. Instead they were focussed on Schneider instead.

“There was someone at the window, peering in at me,” Schneider was saying. when Paul was able to concentrate on him once more. 

Till grunted and walked to the window and ripped open the curtains; he peered out, before he turned back to speak.

“There’s no one out there now,” he said, suspiciously. 

“There was someone there,” Schneider insisted, wildly, hair mussed into dark and curly disarray around his face. “I saw someone through the crack in the curtains peering in at me. I could see eyes glowing red in the darkness.”

“Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?” Flake asked, grumpily. “I mean it’s not the first time that that has happened. You’ve gotta admit it.” 

“There was someone there,” Schneider insisted, but Paul could tell that even the drummer wasn’t as convinced as he once had been any more. 

“Where’s Richard?” Olli suddenly asked, sift voice cutting through the tension that hung in the air. 

“He's - “ Paul began, before his voice trailed off uncertainly. “Actually, I don't know where he is, right now.”

“I see him,” Till announced, from where he was peering out of the window. “He’s on the porch, smoking.” 

“Outside? Well, then. Are you sure you didn't see Richard peering in at you, Chris?” Flake asked Schneider. 

“Since when has Richard had red eyes?” Paul asked. “You think I would have noticed something like that.”

“You would have done, more than any of us,” Till said, dryly as he turned away again from the window. 

Paul ignored the singer’s dry comment, and continued staring at Schneider.

“Well, it makes sense,” Schneider said, slowly. “But the figure I saw wasn’t as big as Reesh.”

“You‘d just woken up, or were dreaming or something,” Flake said, defiantly. “You probably thought that Richard was smaller than he really is.” 

“No one’s ever complained of me ever being small, Flake,” Richard said, from the doorway behind Flake. 

“I thought you were on the porch?” Schneider asked, in surprise, as he stared at Richard from around the shielding block of Paul‘s body.

“I was and now I’m not,” Richard said, with a baffled expression at Schneider. “Unless I’m my own avatar all of a sudden.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Schneider asked, obviously baffled. 

“Will everyone be quiet for a minute?” Olli asked, raising his voice slightly to gain everyone’s attention.

It worked; Olli was not usually one to shout or to raise his voice.

“Why?” Till asked, suspiciously when Olli didn’t immediately continue.

“No reason, I just wanted everyone to be quiet for a bit,” Olli said, with the beginnings of a frown across his brow. “You were all talking a load of horse-shit, to be quite frank.” 

There was silence for a brief few moments, before laughter erupted through the room. With the laughter came a sense of relief, and the tension that had permeated the room began to slip away, until only the ghostly remnants of it held sway in their memories. One by one, they slipped away to the safety of their rooms and the warmth of their beds, and Paul settled down in Richard's embrace once more. He didn’t sleep straight away, however, and neither did Richard; both men, instead, lay awake in each other’s arms, Paul staring at Richard’s chest whilst Richard himself stared up at the ceiling. 

“Reesh?” Paul murmured, eventually.

He felt Richard shifting in his arms, the slight flex and contraction of strong muscles sliding beneath cool skin and he glanced up into Richard's curious expression. 

“Did you stare into Schneider’s room earlier?” he asked. 

“Is that what he was creating a fuss about, earlier?” Richard asked, sudden understanding warming his voice at that.

“Yeah,” Paul said, with a huff of laughter. “Damned fellow woke us all up with his yelling. He said he saw someone at his window, staring in at him, with red eyes. We all thought that it must be you, seeing as you were outside, on the porch.” 

“It must have been,” Richard said, with a shrug. “There wasn’t anyone else but me, out there; I was pacing a little bit to keep the cold away. It’s still snowing out there, y’know? I‘m not so sure where the red eyes come in, however.”

“Flake’s probably right; he did say that Schneider was probably dreaming,” Paul said, with a shrug of his own. 

“Hmm, probably,” Richard said, his voice pitched low as he leant in to press a chuffing kiss against Paul’s forehead. “Talking of dreaming, it’s time you went to sleep yourself, liebchen.”

“I’m not five, Reesh,” Paul laughed, even as he lifted his head slightly to press a goodnight kiss against Richard's mouth. 

“Luckily for me, you’re not,” Richard replied, when the kiss had ended.

“Shut up and good night,” Paul said, as he settled closer still against Richard's body.

Richard's only response was to laugh. 

****


	6. Chapter 6

The following day, Richard didn’t put in an appearance until darkness had almost fallen; Paul had checked in on him several times throughout the day, to make sure that his partner was alright yet, whilst Richard had looked pale and felt cold to the touch, he looked in a healthy enough state for Paul to not worry immediately. That evening, however, when the rest of the band sat down to eat their evening meal, Richard deigned to join them, preferring to keep out of the way on the porch, watching the snow falling whilst smoking a seemingly endless parade of cigarettes.

“Is Richard alright?” Olli asked, as he stared in the direction of where the porch was situated.

Whilst they could not see Richard himself through the window, they could see the occasional puff of smoke, marking out where the guitarist stood. 

“He said he was,” Paul said, with a shrug, yet he did not bother to hide his disturbed concern regarding his lover.

“He hasn’t eaten so much as a bean all day,” Schneider observed from around a mouthful of sweetcorn. “You have to admit that that isn’t normal.” 

“Perhaps I should call the doctor,” Paul’s voice trailed off at the tail-end of his own thought.

“Too late; they won’t come out to us now, unless it was an extreme emergency,” Schneider pointed out, with a snort. 

“We can always break one of his legs or something,” Till mused. “Or an arm. That’s an emergency! We can’t have a guitarist with a broken arm.” 

“Fucking hell, Till,” Paul said, in disgust.

“What?” Till replied, with feigned innocence tuning his eyes wide, yet he smiled. 

“You’re talking about breaking your own guitarist’s arm, regardless of the fact that he is my partner, and you’re just sitting there like it’s nothing so serious as blowing your damned nose,” Paul said.

“You wanted to help him, so I’m helping,” Till pointed out.

“By breaking his fucking arm,” Paul said. “I’d hate to see what you’d do to someone who wasn’t supposed to be your friend or band-mate.” 

“I’d break both arms and both legs, in that case,” Till said, mildly before cramming a mouthful of sausage between his lips.

“Jesus,” Flake muttered, as he shook his head at Till before he transferred his gaze to Paul. “If he’s no better in the morning, call the doctor then. Or better still, run him into town if they won’t come out to us. We are a bit off the beaten track out here.” 

“Perhaps I’ll do that. Thanks, Flake,” Paul said, with a nod in Flake’s direction.

“Oh, so you’ll accept Flake’s help, when you won’t accept mine,” Till said, with a grin around his sausage.

“Flake is sensible, Till; you are not,” Schneider pointed out before Paul could.

Paul nodded and laughed in Schneider’s direction, even as Richard wandered in from outside, cheeks looking pinched and reddened with the cold.

“I’m not going to the doctor’s,” he said, as he shrugged out of his coat to hang it on a peg by the door.

“How the hell did you hear that all the way out there?” Flake asked. “We weren’t talking that loudly.”

“You were,” Richard objected. “I could hear every damn word you spoke.” 

“Jesus, you must have the hearing of a bat or something,” Schneider said, in surprise. “Fucking sonar hearing.” 

From Olli’s seat came the low hum of the Batman theme tune and even Richard managed to laugh amidst the chuckles that broke out around the table.

“Are you actually going to eat something now?” Paul asked, as he reached for Richard’s hand when the other man passed him. 

“No, darling, not yet. Maybe later,” Richard replied, as he leant to press a kiss against Paul’s cheek.

“That’s it. I don’t want my food now,” Olli said, as he pretended to push his still half full plate away. “Thanks, you two.” 

Richard and Paul ignored him, despite the laughter that rolled around the table. 

“I’m going to watch the TV, for a while; there’s a football match on,” Richard said, as he nodded towards the television set that was nestled against one wall of the living area. 

“Okay,” Paul said, and watched as the other man wandered away.

He turned back to his meal and couldn’t shake the feeling of disquietude from settling over him.

****

Richard was in the bedroom, book propped up on his lap as Paul walked in a couple of hours later. Richard sighed when he saw the look of absolute weariness that had stamped its tired way across his lover’s face. He guessed that it was as much to do with worrying over him as it was to do with being trapped in the cabin complex with little to do except sit around and watch Schneider play endless riffs on his drums. No matter how good Schneider was, it still was boring when one was relegated to doing little more than read, or watch TV, or fill in endless crosswords whilst one waited for their turn in the recording booth. 

He watched as Paul nodded at him, teeth showing in a sudden weary, yet still normal-for-Paul grin, before the other man made his way into the en-suite bathroom. He left the door open, despite the fact that Richard could distinctly hear Paul peeing in there. He waited until the other man had finished, to afford him at least that much privacy, before Richard made his way into the bathroom; Paul was bent over the basin, head bowed as he washed his hands. Richard walked towards Paul, smiling as he propped his hands upon the other man’s hips and leant in to press a kiss against Paul’s neck. Paul squirted forward at the pressure against him, a startled cry falling from between his lips as he barked his hips and his head against the basin and wall. 

“Jesus, Reesh; I didn’t hear you come in,” Paul said, even as he automatically leant back into Richard’s body, eyes closing when he felt Richard's affectionate nuzzle against his throat. 

“You were distracted,” Richard murmured, as he pressed endless kisses against his lover’s neck and throat.

Richard snuffled and inhaled sharply, enjoying the scent that made up his lover; all soap and cologne and the musky, heady scent of Paul beneath it all. He hummed in aroused enjoyment against Paul, pressed close enough so that Paul could be aware of his growing erection, before he sniffed at Paul’s neck again.

“Are you sniffing me?” Paul said, but his laugh that infused his tone with warmth told Richard more than words could that Paul was more amused and confused than annoyed.

“Hmm, you do smell good,” Richard said, as he nuzzled Paul's neck again. 

He couldn’t stop himself from experimentally licking Paul’s neck, and he hummed again; Paul’s skin tasted of Paul himself and the slightly salty tang of sweat. He hummed again and repeated the gesture, even as Paul laughed against him.

“And now, you’re licking me. What’s up with you tonight, Reesh?” Paul asked, as he wriggled awkwardly around to face Richard. 

“Oh, I can’t lick my own lover now, hmm?” Richard asked, even as he grinned. 

“I’m not saying no,” Paul said, with a smile even as he objected. “I’m a big boy - “

“Yeah, I know that,” Richard said, as he gave Paul a smiling leer. 

That, at least, made Paul laugh and shove playfully at Richard's shoulder.

“Be serious,” he said. “As I was saying - I’m a big boy. If I didn’t like what you were doing, I would have told you so or pushed you away.”

“Hmm, true,” Richard said, before he leant in again to press his lips against Paul’s throat.

He growled in approval when Paul tilted his head to the side, artfully exposing himself to Richard's mouth and Richard’s kisses and Richard's exploratory tongue. Richard felt a surge of lust rattle through him at that, at the absolute trust that Paul was showing in him and he pressed heated kisses against Paul’s throat again. Paul made a laughing noise of approval, even as he rested one hand against Richard's back.

“Slow down, darling, we’ve got all night,” he said. 

Richard made a distracted noise of agreement, but he didn’t lift his head from Paul’s neck. Instead, he continued kissing him, mingling the nuzzling gestures of love with the odd scrape of teeth and gentle nip against Paul’s throat. He could feel the throb of Paul’s pulse against his lips when he moved his mouth, and on instinct, he bit down, teeth breaking skin and he sucked, drawing forth blood from Paul’s vein. He barely registered Paul’s sudden cry of annoyed, pained surprise, before he felt the sharp press of Paul’s bunched fist against his shoulder as the other man tried to push him off. Richard took little notice of him, however, senses too crowded by the taste of blood rushing over his tongue and the heady sweetness of it flowing down his throat; suddenly he knew what it was that he’d been craving all evening, and the blood that he licked free from Paul’s neck tasted better than any meal he’d tasted in his life. 

He continued feeding even as Paul's struggles became weaker and his hand finally fell away, body going slightly limp in Richard's arms. The utter weakness in Paul's body woke Richard to what he was doing and sense crowded in; he broke away from Paul’s neck with an anguished cry, yet it almost seemed too late. Paul lolled heavily in Richard's arms and Richard cried out again, fear and anguish and pain racking his voice into so many incoherent syllables that he didn’t know what to do. Faint movement fluttered in the base of Paul’s throat, proving that there still was some life left in the man yet and on impulse, Richard lifted his wrist to his mouth, teeth clawing and gnashing at his flesh until he tasted the brief bright swill of his own blood hitting his tongue. He wondered at his own actions, even as his arm seemed to move beneath its own volition and he smeared his blood against Paul's lips again, again, again, until he felt the other man stirring against him, mouth latching onto where the gash was already starting to heal in Richard's flesh.

Paul’s lips pulled and sucked against him, hands rising to grip Richard’s arm suddenly, as life began to return to the other man’s limbs. Paul’s eyes snapped open and impaled Richard with a hungry look, as the other man continued to feed. Richard moaned slightly, cock hard and pressing against the front of his boxers now, arousal imperceptibly coiling through him at the almost intimate feel of Paul’s lips moving against him. 

“Enough,” Richard said, finally, when he felt the first wave of weak tiredness pulsing over his body.

He pushed at Paul’s shoulder, effectively pushing the other man away easily, but not without protest from Paul himself.

“Enough, Schatz,” Richard said. “Enough.” 

Paul’s complaints dwindled away to nothing and he stared at Richard.

“What the hell did you do to me?” Paul asked, but he sounded neither annoyed nor horrified, more intensely curious. 

“I don’t know,” Richard said, and he felt shame mingling with his own curiosity. “I bit you and I couldn’t stop; I felt like I was possessed or something, like something was making me do it. You nearly fucking died because of me, actually.”

He turned and left the room abruptly, leaving Paul to straggle after in his wake, calling his name; Richard almost made it all the way to the bedroom door before Paul caught up with him, hand strongly clamping against Richard's wrist. Paul had already had strong hands, yet his grip seemed even stronger, even tighter to Richard then; despite this however, how he made no attempt to open the door. Instead., he left his hand motionless against the doorknob, head bowed whilst he waited for Paul to do something, anything other than to merely hold onto him. 

“Please don’t go,” Paul said, and he sounded sad. “Please.” 

Richard dipped his head once in acknowledgement, but didn’t raise his head to look at Paul.

“Look at me, please, Richard,” Paul said, and his tone was almost a demand. 

“Why?” Richard asked, even as he glanced up at Paul and just as quickly glanced away again.

“I want you to look at me,” Paul said. “Am I suddenly so ugly to you or something?”

“Don’t be bloody stupid,” Richard said, as he turned a ferocious glare upon Paul again. “You’re gorgeous and you know it.” 

Paul smirked at that; he obviously knew that he’d hit a nerve with what he’d said, but still Richard continued.

“Okay, I’m looking at you. What?” he asked. 

“What the hell did you do to me?” Paul asked, again.

“I told you. I don’t know,” Richard said, and he shook his head in negation at the other man. 

“Tell me what it felt like, then,” Paul insisted, but when Richard looked into the other man‘s eyes, it seemed as though an idea had begun to form in Paul‘s head, as though he‘d figured something out.

“Persistent bastard,” Richard said, anyway, but there was no real rancour to his tone. 

“Tell me,” Paul repeated. “I need to know, because I need to confirm something.”

Richard stared at him, yet Paul only sighed in growing impatience at him and didn’t speak again. 

“Fine. I felt your pulse under my lips and I bit. I couldn’t help it, I fucking bit you,” Richard said. “It was like something was inside me, telling me what to do and I couldn’t stop myself any more than you fucking could. It‘s disgusting what I did to you.”

“And?” Paul prompted when Richard fell silent.

“What d’you mean - _and?_ I drank your blood, Paul. I drank it and I fucking liked it,” Richard said. “What sort of freak does that make me?” 

“It makes you sound like a vampire, if I’m honest,” Paul said, but his laughter, when it came, was gentle and revelatory, instead of mocking. 

“Fuck off,” Richard said. “Take this seriously.”

“I am,” Paul said, insistently. “I mean look at you. You sleep all day, you’re up all night. You look pale and you never eat. I was all ready to call the doctor for you in the morning; you know this. You heard. Which reminds me, your hearing’s a hell of a lot better than it used to be. And you .. what? You made me drink your blood. Isn’t that what vampires do in all those vampire novels?” 

“You were dying, Paul,” Richard said. “I couldn’t let you die. I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn't lose you.” 

Paul sighed at that, and lifted one hand to rest it palm-flat against Richard's cheek. He sighed again and Richard felt the passage of the other man’s breath stirring against his hair. He leant into Paul’s touch, eyes closing as he felt the soft caress of Paul’s thumb against his chin.

“Let me look at your teeth,” Paul said, suddenly.

“What the - ?” Richard asked, eyes snapping open to stare at Paul in alarm. “Why the hell do you wanna look at my teeth for, Paul?”

“Let me look at your damned teeth,” Paul said, even as he probed at Richard’s lips with his free hand, lifting his upper lip himself when Richard didn’t move fast enough.

Richard sighed and allowed Paul to explore his mouth; apparently, Paul found whatever he was looking for, for the other man suddenly gave a cry of confirmation.

“You’ve got fangs, Richard,” he said.

“I have not,” Richard protested immediately. 

“Go look in the mirror,” Paul insisted as he shoved Richard in the direction of the bathroom. “That is, if you still have a reflection.”

“Still have a reflection,” Richard repeated. “Ridiculous.”

Still, he stalked back in to the bathroom, Paul his ever living shadow, and he cried out, reared back at the faint reflection of himself that he saw in the mirror. He could clearly see Paul standing behind, him, despite the fact that Paul should have mostly been blocked from view. Paul himself had started to fade around the edges a little, but even he looked more solid than Richard himself currently did. 

“Jesus Christ, where is my reflection?” Richard said, as he spurted forward to lay one hand flat against the cool glass. “What the fuck is happening? Paulchen, what’s happening?” 

“I told you,” Paul said. “Now look at your teeth.”

Richard lifted his lips and as Paul had said, he clearly could see fangs curving sharply down where his canines once had been. He whirled upon Paul and rested both hands upon the other man’s shoulders.

“Show me yours,” he said, as he lifted Paul’s upper lip experimentally. 

He probed at Paul’s teeth amidst much protest from Paul himself; whilst Paul’s canines already seemed sharper than normal, he hadn’t grown fangs as yet. 

“Jesus,” Richard said, hand falling away again. 

He stared at Paul at close range and whilst there remained a sense of amusement behind Paul's smile, there still was a modicum of calmness, which Richard hadn’t expected to see.

“Why aren’t you angry?” Richard asked. “You should be angry.”

“Would it make a difference, really, if I was?” Paul asked, astutely. “Screaming won’t change the fact of what you’ve done.”

“You were dying, Paul,” Richard all but yelled in Paul's face. “I couldn’t fucking lose you. I told you. I fucking love you too much.” 

Paul’s face softened at that, and he slid his arms around Richard's body. Richard allowed the contact, hands baling in the back of Paul's shirt, pulling him closer as he hid his face in the curve of the other man’s shoulder. He pressed kisses against Paul’s neck, as the other man soothed at his back with gentle, exploratory hands.

“I love you, too, Reesh, which is why I’m not angry,” Paul murmured against him. “Like I said, screaming won’t change anything. Anger won’t either. If I were in your shoes, I would have done the same thing. I wouldn’t let you die. I couldn’t.” 

Richard said - “Fuck you.” 

“In a minute,” Paul said, and Richard couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled from between his lips. 

Richard felt Paul move against him and he lifted his head to stare at the other man, quizzically. 

“What are we going to do?” Richard asked, and grimaced at the sound of abject despair and loss of hope in his voice.

“What choice have we got?” Paul pointed out. “We deal with it, same as we deal with everything else. Together.”

“We need to tell the others,” Richard pointed out. 

“Yes,” Paul said. “Tomorrow. Not now. I think they’re asleep. Besides which, we’ve gotta figure out quite what we’re going to tell them, first.”

“But we’ll be asleep during the day,” Richard said.

“You will be. I won’t, not the whole day yet, at least,” Paul reminded him. “It took you at least a day before you went almost fully vamped out on me.” 

“So you tell them, then,” Richard replied, with a snort and a roll of his eyes. 

Paul merely grunted and nodded, as he stared thoughtfully into the distance. 

“Best just to sleep on it, Paul,” Richard said, with a sigh. “You’ll think of something. But when push comes to shove, you’d best tell them the truth.”

“I suppose,” Paul agreed, with a smile, before he fell silent again.

****


	7. Chapter 7

That night Richard and Paul barely slept, although they lay beside each other, bedcovers pulled up to their chins to keep the cold at bay; at first they lay there silently, staring up at the ceiling. Paul reached out and found Richard's hand with his own, twined his fingers through those of his lover’s. He heard the rustle of the pillows as Richard moved his head, and Paul glanced at his way to see that the other man was smiling at him. 

“You know a thank you would have been nice,” Richard said, slyly, smile broadening into a grin to reveal his newly grown fangs. 

“What the hell for?” Paul asked, in surprise. 

“Saving your life,” Richard said. “You could have been dead by now.” 

“Well, that’s a good way to be romantic, Kruspe,” Paul growled out.

Richard merely laughed but otherwise remained silent. They didn't speak for a while longer, the only noises they made were while they made love, odd groans interspersed with the sounds of each other's names, hands gentle and caressing whilst their bodies moved beneath the trapping cover of the blankets. Each movement, each kiss and caress and thrust seemed magnified and more intense and Richard couldn’t remember a time when he’d been happier or more in love.

****

Richard was laying on his side a couple of hours later, staring at nothing on the far wall when he heard the sounds of crying emanating from the en-suite bathroom. He sat up, alarm shooting through his body as he turned to look over his shoulder at where Paul had been laying. The other man was no longer there, and the sound of crying was a little louder, although the sobs were choked, then turned muffled as though Paul was trying desperately to hide the noises behind the cover of his hand.

“Paul?” Richard asked, and the sobbing abated a little. “Paulchen? Honey, are you okay?” 

“No,” Paul finally managed, but he didn’t appear in the bathroom doorway. 

Richard frowned and got up, feet moving silently over the floor as he made his way into the bathroom. 

“What is it?” Richard asked, as he knelt down before where Paul was huddled in the corner of the room, beside where the towels and the dirty linen basket were kept. Paulchen, please tell me.” 

“What the hell are we gonna do, Reesh?” Paul asked. “Are we both suffering from some kind of delusion or what? Why the hell is this happening?” 

“It‘s all painfully real, darling; it all started the night you found me unconscious by the forest’s edge the other night,” Richard said. “Whoever knocked me the fuck out also bit me.” 

Paul merely stared at him, eyes huge and wounded, lips turned down at the corners; whilst he wasn’t crying outright, tears still shimmered at the edges of his vision, visible possibly only to Richard, with his freshly keen eyesight. 

“But why?” Paul asked, voice as lost as his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Richard admitted. “Trust me, I’ve thought long and hard about this, but I can’t figure out an answer to it. Maliciousness, perhaps? Just being evil to the random dude outside the cabin? Who knows? Whatever it was, it was probably born out of hatred, not love.” 

“Love?” Paul repeated, and his expression turned confused. “Whoever said these things happen out of love?”

“They do,” Richard said, fiercely. “I saved you, didn’t I? I didn’t do it ‘cos I fucking hate you, Paul.”

Paul at least laughed at that, before his grin turned wobbly at the edges. 

“I feel lost, Reesh,” he admitted. “How the fuck are we gonna deal with this?”

“Like I said earlier, the same way we always do - together,” Richard told him, firmly. “We’ve got each other, and you know the rest of the band will have our backs, right?”

“Yeah,” Paul said, with a sigh, before he dug the tips of his fingers roughly into the corners of his eyes, face scrunched a little as he dragged away the last of his tears. “It’d be pretty shitty if it was only just one of us.”

“Exactly,” Richard said. “We’re in this for the long haul, no matter how long we live.”

“Jesus,” Paul said, suddenly as he stared at Richard.

“Well, I’m not that bad, Paul,” Richard said, turning a mock aggrieved pout upon Paul. “I know I can be a bit much, sometimes, but come on.” 

“No, I don’t mean that, Reesh. I mean what you said about how long we live. We’re gonna live forever, aren’t we?” Paul asked. 

“Jesus,” Richard said, as he sat beside Paul heavily. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, y’know. Not really. Well, fuck.” 

“My point, exactly,” Paul said, before he fell silent.

Neither man spoke for a very long time, nor did they move. Instead, the silence was broken only by the dripping of the tap on the basin, and the occasional movement outside of one of the other band members. Eventually they moved, to return to the bedroom, but still they did not speak; in time, the morning began to break and light strobed around the edges of the curtain, although it was uncertain and grey.

****

Paul didn’t wake up until well after lunch had finished; he blinked groggily up at the ceiling before he turned to face Richard. As he’d expected, the other man still was sleeping, chest barely taking breaths he no longer needed. Paul laid one hand against Richard's cheek, but the other man didn’t stir; only the slight quickening of whatever life still remained in Richard's body convinced Paul that the other man wasn’t actually truly dead. He rubbed one thumb over Richard's lower lip but the other man didn’t even twitch a muscle at the contact. Paul sighed and knew that there was no use waiting for Richard to waken; he wouldn’t stir for several hours yet, and Paul still had to warn the others as to what was going on.

He padded into the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror; his reflection had receded somewhat whilst he’d slept, until he resembled something like Richard’s misty reflection the night before. He could clearly see the shape of the shower showing through the nap of his jumper, and the light in the bedroom shining somewhere through the vicinity of his head. He shuddered and tried his best to shave and to shower, glad for the fact that he didn’t have to rely on a mirror to wash his body. 

Once he was dry and dressed, he stopped to stare down at the still motionless Richard. He sighed, made sure that the curtains were pulled closed, firmly, before he pulled the covers more closely around Richard's body, effectively sealing the other man up in a cocoon. 

“Sleep well, Reesh,” Paul said, as he left the room. “See you tonight.”

He grimaced at the sharp lances of light that streaked through the windows of the living area; it was too bright against his eyes and his skin felt odd and prickly, as though it wanted to burn, but the effects of his vampiric change hadn’t quite taken a hold as yet. He tried to make himself something to eat, old human habits dying hard, yet the sandwich he made himself was destined to never be fully eaten. After the first few bites, Paul began to choke, dry bread and sausage soon coming right back up again, splattering against the table before him. He grimaced and cleared up the mess, before he threw the entire squidgy mass into the bin.

“Okay. So no more human food,” he murmured, even as the door clicked open and the tall form of Olli loped easily in.

“Talking to yourself, again, Paul?” Olli asked, with a friendly grin, as he made his way to the fridge and pulled the door open.

“I suppose,” Paul replied, with a shrug, feeling scared anticipation settling heavily in his stomach.

He knew that it was his responsibility to let the others know what had happened, but now that it had come to it, he didn’t know how to tell them.

“You’re up late,” Olli observed as he straightened, bottle of beer clutched between long fingers. “You catch the ‘flu from Richard, or what?” 

“I caught something,” Paul muttered, before he could stop himself. 

“What?” Olli asked, sharply, brows suddenly lowering in his confusion. 

“Nothing,” Paul sighed. “And everything.”

“You’re not making any sense, Paul,” Olli admitted, as he cracked open the bottle with the opener that he pulled from the nearby drawer. 

“I know, and I’m sorry for that,” Paul said, and he meant it. “I think we need to call an emergency band meeting.”

“Good luck waking Richard,” Olli said, with a laugh. “When Schneider tried waking you both earlier, you were both well away. Couldn’t wake you for love nor money.” 

“He tried waking us?” Paul asked, in sudden surprise. “I didn’t know.”

“It wasn’t for lack of trying on Schneider’s part, believe me,” Olli said, with a gentle laugh. “He all but crashed cymbals over your heads, in his attempts.”

Paul could only blink in confusion. 

“I never heard a thing,” he repeated. before he changed the subject. “I suppose Bob will let us have a break soon?” 

“Yeah, we’re due for one,” Olli agreed, as he checked the time by the clock on the wall. “I just slipped out early.” 

Paul grunted, but otherwise remained silent; he stared at an indeterminate spot upon the tiled floor of the kitchen, barely aware of the other man’s movements about the room.

“You look like you’re lost in your own thoughts there, Paulchen,” Olli observed, even as the door swung open to admit a blast of cold, snowing air and the thin form of Flake. 

“It’s because I am,” Paul replied, even as he nodded towards Flake. “Still snowing, Flake?”

“No, Paul, I’ve just got bad dandruff today,” Flake said, as he made his way to the kettle and switched it on at the wall. 

“Okay,” Paul said, with a shake of his head at Flake’s back. 

“Oh, look what the cat coughed up,” Till said, as he followed next upon Flake’s heels. “Lover-boy still out for the count, is he?”

“Yes, lover-boy still is,” Paul said, but he couldn’t help the fond smile that crossed his face when he thought of Richard.

“You know that’s quite disgusting,” Flake said, as he made his way past Paul to pull several mugs from the cupboard.

“What is?” Paul asked, in surprise.

“The way you smile whenever you think or talk about Richard,” Flake said, as he thumped the mugs heftily down beside the now boiling kettle. “Disgusting.”

“Obviously you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be in love, Flake,” Till said, surprisingly. 

“Oh, no, I haven’t,” Flake said, immediately. “It’s just it’s quite sickening in others.”

“You’re weird,” Olli said, immediately, as Schneider made his way in.

“Oh, has Flake spoken again?” Schneider asked, with a grin at Paul. “Look who’s risen. The Prince of Darkness. Your crypt lost it‘s flavour?”

“Funny you should mention that, actually,” Paul started, before Till began banging plates and knives around, obviously having decided to throw an impromptu snack together for everyone. 

“Paul, what are you having?” Till yelled over the noise of the kettle screeching out its dying death knells. 

“Nothing,” Paul said.

“Nothing? As far as I can remember, you haven’t eaten since last night,” Schneider said. “You’re not coming down with that mysterious Richard disease, have you?”

“That's what I’m trying to tell you - I have!” Paul said, exasperation tightening his voice and making it snap at the edges. 

“Why? What the fuck has he got?” Till asked, all ears now with the prospect of some juicy new gossip regarding their guitarist.

“Oh, Jesus. Paul’s caught cooties from Richard,” Flake said, with a grimace. “I knew it would have to happen in the end.” 

“What the hell are you talking about? Bloody cooties?” Paul asked, in confusion. “I don’t even know what that is.” 

“Something rather best left to the imagination, knowing Flake,” Schneider chimed in. “You know how descriptive he likes getting with anything gross.” 

Flake swore at Schneider and flumped down in the chair beside Till, even as Olli continued to watch Paul. 

“I don’t think this is a laughing matter,” Olli said, with a serious frown. “Paul seemed distracted, earlier.” 

“Yes, Paul was,” Paul said, getting a little fed up of being talked about as though he wasn’t in the room. “Paul was very distracted.” 

“Well, will you tell us already?” Till asked, before his eyes widened dramatically. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“What the - ?” Paul asked, in sudden alarm, even as sudden laughter erupted from all quarters. “Last time I looked, Till, I was still male, you know. Bloody pregnant. As if.” 

“Out with it then,” Till said, grin still decorating his face as he spoke.

Paul sighed and began to tell the whole sorry tale from the beginning.

****


	8. Chapter 8

“What the hell are you talking about? Vampires, indeed,” Flake asked, eyes blinking rapidly in disbelief behind the shelter of his glasses. “You do realize that vampires don’t exist, don’t you?” 

“How d’you explain these, then, Flake?” Paul asked, before he opened his mouth to reveal his slowly growing fangs, already sharper than they had been the evening before. “I’ve been asleep most of the day. I haven’t had the time to nip out and get myself some fancy dental work, you know.” 

“Jesus, Paul, show us again,” Schneider said, leaning in with rapt fascination as he stared at Paul's mouth.

Paul grinned widely, and showed off his fangs.

“Jesus fucking Christ, he’s got fangs,” Schneider said, as he stood abruptly, chair spilling to the floor behind him. 

“They could still be fake,” Flake groused. “Halloween props.”

“Fuck,” Schneider said, in disappointment, as he bent down again to pick up his fallen chair. 

He slumped back down upon the seat, arms crossed over his chest, face caught in a grumpy frown of disappointed disgust. Paul sighed as Till got up to rummage around in the fridge.

“What are you doing?” Paul asked, as Till’s chuckles vibrated eerily through the cold wastes of the fridge. 

“How d’you feel about garlic, Paul?” Till asked, as he tossed a small, bulbous object in Paul’s direction.

On instinct, Paul reached up and grabbed the garlic before it could hit him squarely in the forehead and dropped it upon the floor with a startled cry of pain. His palms had burned where the flesh had come into contact with the garlic, blisters already forming against the too pale skin. 

“Wow, that’s one hell of an allergy you got yourself there, Paul,” Till said, laughter arcing between Schneider and himself.

Neither Olli nor Flake laughed; instead, they sat and watched proceedings with grim expressions carved across their faces. 

“It’s not funny; that fucking burned, Till,” Paul yelled. 

“I still don’t believe it, you know,” Till said, before he turned away.

“How the hell d’you explain these, then?” Paul asked, as he revealed the fang marks upon his neck, only partially faded from the night before.

“They’re like those mosquito bites on Richard,” Schneider said, earlier disappointment disappearing beneath a fresh outbreak of fascination. “Did you go out in the woods, as well?”

“No, I did not; we‘re not supposed to leave the cabins, are we?” Paul said, with a disgruntled frown. “Okay. You need further proof. Come with me to the bathroom.”

“Not bloody likely,” Flake muttered, with a dark frown. 

“We’re only standing at the mirror,“ Paul told him on the way past. 

Flake grunted and uncoiled from his chair. Paul was already at the door, and barely waited for the others to join him before he led the way into the bathroom.

“And how do you explain that?” Paul asked, as he pointed at the mirror.

His lack of a reflection in comparison to the others clearly baffled them, and they spent many a long minute pulling faces behind Paul’s back, just to see what it would look like through the ghost of Paul’s reflection. Paul sighed his way through it all and affectionately called them all children.

“I’m gonna wake up Richard,” Schneider announced, suddenly.

“What for?” Paul asked in alarm, but he could not stop Flake from leaving the room, despite the fact the bathroom was only small.

Till partially blocked the way between Paul and Schneider and by the time that Paul had winnowed around Till’s amused body, the drummer had already reached the bedroom window and thrashed open the curtains. Despite the fact that the light was winter-weak, and filled with now as it cycled ever more rapidly towards early twilight, there was enough light still to streak across the room and hit upon Richard’s still prone body. Paul dashed across the room, and pulled the curtains roughly across again, but he wasn’t quick enough to stop the light from scalding its way across one of Richard's cheeks, and leaving bright red welts and blisters in its wake. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Paul yelled as he whirled on Schneider angrily. “What part of - _Richard is a vampire_ \- didn't you understand? Vampires are burned by daylight, you Dummkopf!”

“I thought it was a fucking joke, didn’t I?” Schneider yelled back, even as he cast a stricken look down at the burnt, but still sleeping, Richard in bed. 

“I wasn’t,” Paul said, and he barely restrained himself from hitting Schneider clean in the face.

“What are the hell are we gonna do?” Flake asked, and his voice was tinged with utter desolate desperation. “We can’t carry on like this.”

“Who says we can’t? Why not? What are you even talking about, anyway?” Paul asked, whirling on the keyboardist next.

“I mean, the band. How can we carry on with you two being .. you know ... blood-suckers?” Flake said, uncomfortably. 

“Well, you got over us being lovers,” Paul said. “You can get over this.”

“Not the same thing, Paul,” Olli pointed out, but his tone was sad, and not accusatory. 

“Why not? You have to work round this, the same way you worked round us being together,” Paul said, heatedly. “I don’t want to give up my job. I’m sure I can speak for Richard by saying the same for him. Besides, loads of bands record at night. Me and Reesh can always do the same. Plus, we mostly perform in the evening; that won’t pose a problem for us, either. We barely do many interviews, so that’s also not a problem. So why are we even contemplating the end of the band?”

“I wasn’t contemplating it,” Schneider objected, immediately, despite the fact that no one was actually asking him.

“Flake was,” Till pointed out.

“Flake always contemplates the worst,” Olli pointed out with a snort, with a snort.

“And Flake still is standing in the room,” Flake retorted.

That, at least, broke some of the tension, and laughter broke out between them; even Flake grinned at the chuckles that surrounded him. 

“So, what’s the problem?” Paul asked. “I think I’ve covered everything.” 

“You have,” Till said. “As usual.”

Paul pointedly ignored him; Till merely found Paul’s reaction amusing and laughed. 

“I think Paul’s right, actually. All we can do is just try it out and see how it works; you two do your thing at night and we do it during the day,” Till surprisingly said, despite his continuing laughter. “For now. If we can work through the next few weeks, then we can work through anything. Agreed?”

“Well, I think that makes sense,” Olli said, immediately.

Schneider and Paul were quick to agree, and only Flake shrugged and said nothing. His silence was taken as much of an agreement as a verbal one was. If Flake had chosen to object, they knew that he would have done, and at great length. 

“Time to tell Bob the change of plans, I think,” Paul said, as he began to stride from the room.

“Paul?” Till suddenly said, as he waved the smaller man back to his side again.

“Till,” Paul said, as he returned.

“How are you ... you know ... planning to eat, exactly?” Till asked. “No offense, but I don’t fancy being chewed on by a vampire, thanks. That might be fine for you two, but not for me.”

He pointed first to the still sleeping Richard, and then to Paul, as he spoke. 

“Don’t worry; I’m sure we’ll work out something,” Paul said, but didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t thought of that yet. “I’ll have to talk to Richard about that.”

“You do that,” Till said. “I’m sure none of us want to be like you.” 

“No, sorry,” Schneider said, with a guilty expression on his face.

“I hate the sight of blood, so not for me,” Flake agreed.

“Sounds interesting, and even a little arousing, but also not for me,” Olli said, and his grin showed beneath his beard.

“Well, I hardly had a choice in this, and neither did Reesh, but I’m sure we can both restrain ourselves around you lot,” Paul said, with a slightly irritated snort. 

“You never restrain yourselves with each other,” Till muttered. 

Again, Paul ignored him; instead, he turned away and his gaze fell upon Olli. 

“Sometimes, I worry about you, you know, Olli,” Paul suddenly said, much to the bassist’s amazement.

“Me? Why me?” Olli asked, his voice spiky with amused surprise.

“You’re fetishising vampires now,” Paul said, as the rest of the band began to laugh. 

“Come on, you’ve gotta admit that it’s a little bit sexy being a vampire,” Olli said, but his cheeks blazed with embarrassed colour. 

“Good, glad you think so, considering you now have two as band-mates,” Paul said, with a dry snort. 

Paul’s comment sobered up his laughing band-mates and they were left staring sombrely at Paul. 

“We’ll got through this,” Paul told them, more to break the silence than because he truly knew what to say. “We’ve got no choice, have we?”

“I suppose not,” Till agreed. “It could be worse, I suppose.”

“How can it be worse? We’ve got a pair of undead bloodsuckers in the band,” Flake pointed out. 

“They could be dead, outright, for a start,” Till said. “Or worse, they could be glittery pieces of emo crap, masquerading as vampires. You know what I mean.” 

Amused chuckles were interspersed with grunts of agreement from the rest of the band, before Paul spoke. 

“Well, I may not be, but I dunno about Reesh,” Paul said, causing more laughter to erupt around him again. 

“What’s so funny?” Bob asked, as the producer wandered into the room, looking as sleepy and as disheveled as he always did. 

He smelt of fresh cigarette smoke and wintry snow, and what little remained of his hair showed evidence of further snowfall.

“Oh Bob, just the man I need to talk to,” Paul said, upon seeing the producer. “In private.” 

“Okay,” Bob said, with a frown as Paul led him outside again.

****


	9. Chapter 9

Paul wasn’t sure of what Bob’s reaction would be to the news; he didn’t want to affect the rest of the band’s decision in any way, regarding their changed situation if Bob decided to react violently or with disgust. Paul knew that at the end of the day, Bob was temporary, and the band was permanent. Paul started off gently, stating that both Richard and he needed to record at night now, instead of during the day, with the others. Whilst Bob didn’t seem happy at first at the schedule change, he didn’t seem surprised, either. Paul remarked upon this, a frown in place that lowered his brows over his eyes. 

“The reason why I didn't seem surprised is that this has happened before,” Bob said, with a weary sigh. 

“Oh?” Paul asked, darkly. 

“I take it your partner’s not himself at the moment, is he?” Bob asked. 

“Depends on what you mean by not himself,” Paul said, slowly. 

“Changed,” Bob said, quietly. “Not quite human anymore.” 

“You could say that,” Paul said, slowly. “We are talking about the same thing here, aren’t we? As in changed as in sharp teeth and sudden craving for blood changed?”

“If you mean vampires, then that's exactly what I mean,” Bob said, grimly. “Has he bitten anyone else recently?”

“Yes,” Paul said, quietly. “Me, actually.” 

“Okay,” Bob said, as he stared at Paul closely. “Make sure this ... infection goes no further, you hear?” 

“I’m not planning on it,” Paul said, defensively. “And I’ll make sure Richard infects no one else, either. I doubt he would, purposefully. I don’t think he even meant to turn me, but you know what it’s like, heat of the moment and whatnot.”

Paul couldn’t help thinking of Richard’s stricken face when he’d thought that Paul was lost to him forever, dying in Richard's arms after being bitten; his heart lurched with remembered pain and sadness and tried to swallow it away. Bob, however, did not look amused; instead, he looked a little irritated.

“I’m being serious,” Paul told him, also unamused. 

“Make sure you are. This isn’t a joking matter,” Bob said.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re not surprised? Why has this happened before? Why haven’t you done something about it, more importantly?” Paul asked.

“I’ve tried, believe me, but when my own brother’s involved, there’s not really all that much I can do,” Bob said, and the first hint of helplessness showed in his face and voice at that.

“Your brother?” Paul asked, in surprise. “Why and how is your brother involved?” 

“My brother is the vampire who bit your boyfriend,” Bob said. “And so it’s his fault that you're the way that you are now.” 

“Jesus,” Paul said. “And you say this has happened before? How many times? To who?”

“It doesn’t matter to who,” Bob said, irritably. “I told the people in question that I wouldn’t reveal their secret. As I won’t tell anyone about you and Richard, either, if you don’t want me to.”

“I suppose not,” Paul replied, with a shrug. “I suppose that makes sense too.”

“Yes, it does,” Bob said, angrily. “And I can't tell anyone else, because if I do, what will happen to my brother? People kill and they destroy that which they don’t understand and I would do anything to prevent that from happening. H'es my brother and I love him despite everything. If that means stopping people from killing my brother by any means necessary, then I'll do it. That's another reason why I’m honour bound to not reveal the identities of the other people infected by my brother. It would destroy so many lives if I said anything. It could even destroy yours if any of this is made public. You do understand that, right?” 

“Yes,” Paul said, horror beginning to creep in, then.

“I tried telling the police the first time that it happened, before I knew that my brother was involved; they laughed at me, thought I was mad, raving about vampires and shadows in the night,” Bob said, and there was some kind of old bitterness that couldn’t be faked, as though old memories would never fade. “And then my brother came to me in the night, old before his time; he was haunted by what he’d become. Of course I had to help him. He’s my brother and he always will be. He’ll live longer than me, and that’s what scares me. Who’s going to protect him when I’m gone? That’s why I can’t go anywhere with any of this shit. I won’t be believed or they’d try to kill the one person I’m supposed to protect.” 

“Why did he infect Richard?” Paul asked. “Why not ... you know.”

Paul tried not to think of Richard dying at the hands of a bloodthirsty killer; the thought of it sent sharp pains of fear and anguish through his body. 

“I don’t know,” Bob said. “Sometimes, I think my brother just likes fucking with people, because he knows I can’t do anything to stop him. It’s a game to him, just to mess me up.”

“But why? He’s your brother,” Paul said, in surprise.

“You know what they say - no one fucks you up quite like your family. Martin always was the eternal rebel and now he literally is,” Bob said. “Anything that he could conceivably do to buck the system and send a big fuck-you to anyone and everyone and he’d do it. Countless times I’d bail him out of jail and he’d walk out laughing, as though he’d just gone for a walk in the park. This is just another little prank to him, as though messing with people, changing people against their will is just another hysterical joke.”

“Even more reason to try and stop him,” Paul pointed out. “If he’s hurting people, or worse.” 

“That’s it, though,” Bob said. “I can’t. Like I said, they’ll kill him and I can’t have that on my conscience, either.” 

“Other people are getting hurt though.” Paul said, but without true rancour.

“Yeah, but are they really?” Bob asked. “Far as I see it, you’re still alive and your partner is, too. It’d be worse if one or both of you were dead, wouldn’t it?” 

“I suppose,” Paul said, but didn’t press the issue any further.

Bob’s logic, twisted and flawed though it was, did make a certain kind of sense to Paul and the producer could hardly be blamed for wanting to protect and take care of his own family. Paul had lost count of the things he’d done for his own family, both his blood-relatives and the chosen family he’d found in Rammstein, so he could understand Bob’s predicament. Despite the fact that he felt angry and that Bob deserved nothing more than a damned good punching, he knew that it wouldn’t help matters if he did. All he could do was leave Bob to his anger and his guilt; the producer seemed hell-bent on punishing himself enough. 

Bob nodded when he saw that Paul understood, but it was a sharp gesture, and an unhappy one, at that. He agreed, when Paul pressed him further on the matter of the newly changed schedule, to call one of his technicians, to ask her to take a temporary night shift for the few weeks that Rammstein would be there. All Paul could do then was to thank him and return to Richard’s side, to wait for the other man to wake up.

****


	10. Chapter 10

Richard slowly slipped from the sleep of the dead into full consciousness, grogginess lasting for only a few seconds, before his mind cleared and he stared up at the ceiling, eyes blinking rapidly against the darkness in the room. Beside him, he felt the comforting presence of Paul, motionless, while he read a book. The room was dark and no light shone was seen anywhere. 

“How are you even reading, Paulchen?” he asked, with a yawn, that revealed sharp fangs to the light.

“Well, you know those weird black blobs you see in books? They’re called words, and I’ve learnt to read them,” Paul said, but his voice was warm with teasing amusement.

“Fuck you, Landers, you knew what I meant,” Richard said, as he reached up to pinch one of Paul’s nipples. 

Paul’s laughter was broken by his sudden sharp yelp of surprised pain.

“Okay, I knew. Stop it, Reesh. No more twisted nipples, please. To answer your question, brand new and improved eyesight helps. Everything‘s changed since I became one with the night,” Paul said, as he rubbed at his twisted nipple with one hand. “Seriously, I can count the whiskers of a cat a half mile away on a moonless night. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?”

“I have, but I haven’t tried actually reading in the bloody dark,” Richard said, with a laugh. “What the hell has happened to my face, anyway? It bloody hurts.”

“That was Schneider,” Paul said and Richard could clearly see the other man’s guilty expression in the darkness.

“What the hell did he to me? Feels like I had my face ironed or something,” Richard said, as he pressed gently exploratory fingers against his face. 

“He opened the bedroom curtains before I could stop him,” Paul explained. “Seemed to think the whole vampirism thing was a joke, and it was only when your face started burning that he realised it wasn’t.”

“Jesus,” Richard said. “I could report him for G.B.H. or something, couldn't I?”

“Bloody G.B.H.,” Paul said, with a laugh. “Trust me, your burn was much worse earlier in the afternoon. It’s healed quite a lot since then.”

“Does it look very bad? It does, doesn’t it?” Richard asked, as he probed at his cheek again. “Fuck.”

“Relax, Reesh; it’s fine,” Paul insisted, with a frown. “Like I said, it’s looking much better than it did earlier in the day and by the morning, it won’t even be there, anymore. If it makes you feel better, I think it makes you look quite sexy, being all scarred and whatnot.”

“I don’t wanna be scarred, Paul,” Richard moaned. “Especially not on my damned face, where everyone can see it.” 

“They won't,” Paul said, with a long suffering sigh. “You’ll be fine; you’ll see.”

Richard grumbled, but otherwise said nothing. Paul returned his attention to his book and continued to read; his fingers rustled against the page when he turned it, before Richard spoke again.

“Paulchen?” he asked.

“Hmmm?” Paul asked, as he turned another page in his book.

“How did the others take it?” Richard asked. “The vampire thing, I mean.” 

“Okay, I suppose,” Paul replied, with a shrug. “They all thought I was joking at first, until they saw first my near-non-existent reflection and the fact that you were burnt.”

“Yeah?” Richard prompted, sensing that there was more that Paul had to say.

“And Flake was worried about the band ending and then being bitten,” he laughed.

“And?” Richard asked, insistently.

“Well, we’re gonna play it by ear for now; both of us are going to record at night whilst everyone else is gonna keep to the daytime, then we’ll take it from there,” Paul said, before he continued filling Richard in with all that he himself had proposed to the band some hours before. 

“But there is something else, that has been bothering me,” Paul admitted, once he‘d finished.

“Yeah?” Richard asked, as he turned on to his side to stare curiously at Paul.

“How do we eat?” Paul asked.

“I don’t know,” Richard admitted, after a brief pause for thought. “I’ve only fed on you so far.”

Paul grunted and stared sightlessly at his book, yet Richard could tell that he wasn't really reading. 

“Perhaps we can feed on deer or something?” Paul asked. “There must be some kind of animal here.”

“Maybe,” Richard said, unconvinced. “But that won’t work out when we're back in Berlin. There are no deer there, not roaming free, at any rate.”

“No,” Paul said, glumly. “I suppose people will have to do, then.” 

“Well, there’s a few people I wouldn’t mind giving a right nasty nip, to be honest,” Richard said, darkly, but there was a hint of teasing to his tone.

Paul couldn’t help but laugh, head tilting back into the darkness, throat exposed to Richard's keen eyes. Richard’s gaze tracked the curve of the other man’s throat, at the way that he could see the barest remainder of the other man’s pulse thrumming against his skin; he reached out, traced the pads of his fingertips against Paul’s neck, and sighed. 

“Your wounds have healed,” he said, realizing for the first time that Paul’s fang marks had gone.

“You sound disappointed,” Paul observed.

“I liked looking at them,” Richard surprised himself by admitting. “Made me feel a bit horny, actually, knowing that I’d done that to you.”

“Kinky bastard,” Paul teased, as he finally set his book aside. “If it bothers you that much, you can always bite me again. You’ll have to fuck me first though.” 

“I’d rather make love,” Richard said, hand trailing down Paul’s chest to puddle against Paul’s crotch.

He stroked at Paul through his pyjamas, and heard the faint inhalation of Paul’s breath in the darkness, before Paul’s hand stopped his explorations.

“Let me get more comfortable,” he said, and wriggled away.

Richard watched as Paul shrugged out of his pyjama bottoms, revealing the long line of his legs, and the partial hardness of his cock. Richard was swift to follow suit. Paul laid back upon the bed, stomach supported by a pile of pillows whilst Richard delved for the lube in the bedside cabinet. He squeezed some of the lube onto his fingers and began preparing Paul; Paul‘s hips moved against the pillows whilst Richard worked, aroused groans leaking past the other man‘s lips as he did so. Richard was fully hard and aching by the time that he finished and was satisfied that Paul could take him; Paul continued to push against the pillows with his hips even though Richard had drawn away, aroused groans louder than they had been. 

“Jesus,” Richard said, as he rolled on a condom. 

He guided himself into the other man, and when he was fully sheathed inside, he waited until Paul gave him a nod to continue. He began to thrust, slowly at first then harder, faster, deeper, Paul's groans turning into louder cries of arousal, bed creaking beneath their moving bodies. Richard felt Paul moving, stroking himself and he groaned, eyes closed as he ran caressing hands over Paul's hips, enjoying the feel of Paul responsive and eager beneath him, coupled with the sounds of Paul’s growing arousal. Richard came with Paul’s name upon his lips and a choked off cry of love, hips erratically thrusting against the other man when Paul came beneath him. 

Richard eased away from Paul slowly and lay beside him; Paul snuggled against Richard's side and Richard bent his head, fangs sliding keenly into willing flesh. He only took a few laps of blood before he eased away again, fingers immediately running in satisfaction over Paul’s fresh wounds. He smiled when he felt Paul’s breath against his throat, Paul’s body sliding eagerly up against his and the first tentative nip of the other man’s fangs against his throat. He tiled his head back and to the side, eyes closing as he waited for Paul to move again. He didn't have to wait long before Paul’s fangs broke through skin and through flesh, and Richard cried out, arousal working weakly through his body again. It was too soon to do anything more than that, however, but the feel of Paul’s fangs in the throat, and the feel of his tongue licking hungrily at him was more than he could bear, and felt almost too intimate to him. Paul drew away, looking excited yet still hungry.

“I’m still hungry,” Paul said. “I want more.” 

“We should get showered or something first,” Richard said, despite the fact that he still felt too lazy to move straight away. “Then we can see what we can hunt in the woods.”

Paul nodded and slipped out of bed, every movement lithe and cat-like. Richard soon followed him, hands reaching out to press against Paul's butt; Paul cast an amused glance over his shoulder at him but otherwise said nothing. They showered together and remained mostly silent, hands running over each other’s bodies; they brought each other to completion again with fingers stroking against cocks beneath the shower. 

Their trip into the woods was mostly successful; their keener eyesight and sense of smell guided them near effortlessly towards a glade of trees, where deer fed, heads bent and lipping at the grass silently. The two men waited at the edge of the clearing, before Paul looked askance to Richard; Richard nodded and they both spurted forward, catching two deer easily, teeth flashing in the light as the remainder of the herd took flight amongst the trees. They fed, and left the bodies where they fell to the ground, to return to the cabin again. They walked into Schneider in the kitchen as the drummer bent sleepily to get a bottle of water from the fridge. He turned and yelled when he saw the state that the two vampires were in, almost dropping his newly acquired bottle to the floor. 

“What the fuck happened to you two?” he asked, as he stared at them.

Richard turned and saw that Paul still had blood smeared over his mouth and chin, and Richard guessed that he must have looked no better.

“Getting a take-away,” Paul immediately said when Richard couldn’t think of a suitable reply.

“Jesus,” Schneider said. “You guys are disgusting, I hope you know that.”

“We’re vampires, Chris,” Richard pointed out. “Vampires feed on blood, if you didn’t know. What are we supposed to do?”

Schneider didn’t reply; instead, he turned away and walked from the room, leaving his bottle of water behind.

****


	11. Chapter 11

Paul and Richard found that the first week of recording went terribly, with the rest of the band hardly talking to them; Schneider must have told them about his blood-soaked encounter with them in the middle of the night and the reality of the situation must finally have started to sink in for them all. Paul knew that if he hadn’t had Richard by his side during that time then he would have exploded with sheer frustration. 

Sometime during the second week, Olli was the first to start talking to them again, swiftly followed by Till, followed finally Schneider and Flake. It seemed as though they had finally realized that while their diet and habits had changed considerably, Richard and Paul still, essentially, were the same men. They both knew, however, that it would take longer still for the situation to fully be accepted; glances still were awkward and silences were fumbled and heavy, whilst conversations, though friendly, were stilted.

Tensions still remained between the band and Bob; the producer refused to have anything more to do with them than absolutely necessary. It seemed that whatever friendliness he’d displayed at the beginning of the recording sessions had all but disappeared beneath the weight of what had happened to Richard and to Paul.

“You think he hates us now?” Richard asked one evening, as he watched Bob locking up the recording studio, to trudge through the snow back to his own cabin.

“Who, Bob? Seems that way,” Flake muttered, from behind the shielding confines of his latest book. 

“It’s not like I asked for his brother to do this to me,” Richard said, as he pointed viciously at his fangs. 

“I think he’s worried what you’re gonna do to his brother,” Olli said, from where he sat by Flake’s side.

Unlike Flake, Olli was not reading; instead, the bassist had been contentedly watching the snow falling swiftly to the ground outside, seemingly mesmerised by the fall of the fat white flakes.

“Well, what can we do? Kill him?” Richard asked, with a derisive snort. 

“Kill who?” Paul asked, as he wandered through from the bathroom, still towelling his hair dry as he did so. “I’ve still got soap in my ears, or otherwise I would already have heard.”

“Bob’s brother,” Richard explained, when neither Flake nor Olli said anything. 

“For what? Making us vamp out?” Paul asked.

“Making _me_ vamp out,” Richard corrected, gently. “I made you, don’t forget.”

“God, this is like some freakish family genealogy test or something,” Flake muttered, bitterly. “The who’s who in the vampire world.”

No one took any notice of him, yet Richard saw the hurt look pass behind Paul’s eyes all the same, there and gone in but an instant, leaving only the memories of soft and wounded eyes behind. 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Olli suddenly said, long legs crashing to the floor from where he’d had them propped up on the table. 

“Why not?” Paul asked, in surprise. 

“Paulchen, have you not paid attention to the Lost Boys, or something? Kill the vampire who made you and you die,” Olli said. 

“I think you’re thinking of werewolves, Olli,” Flake said, with a snort. “And the rule was to kill yourself or your victims were destined to remain as the living dead for all eternity. Did you not pay attention to either of the American Werewolf films?” 

“Well, what happened in the Lost Boys, then?” Olli asked. “Something did.”

“Kill the head vampire, and you return back to your human state, or something like that,” Richard replied, with a shrug.

“I’m not sure that - “ Olli began, but he didn’t get the chance to finish. 

“What are talking about bloody movies for? They’re movies for a reason, guys. They’re not real. This is,” Paul shouted, as he pointed first at himself and then at Richard. “We’re vampires, guys. That little fact’s not going anywhere anytime soon.” 

“Okay, calm down, Paul,” Olli said, with a frown. 

“Paulchen, please, darling, you’re not helping,” Richard said, gently. “I’m just as frustrated as you are, but getting angry about it won’t help.”

Paul’s jaw clenched visibly, but Richard was glad that the other man at least nodded, and seemed to try and reign in his anger. Richard also nodded, but didn’t immediately take his eyes from his partner. 

“Okay,” Paul said, blowing an angrily shaking breath from between suddenly pursed lips. 

“I still think we should kill him,” Flake said, with an all too eager grin up at the others. 

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Richard asked, as he roughly turned on Flake.

Flake merely shrugged, with a small grin still playing about his lips. 

“He’s enjoying himself,” Richard said, as he turned back to Paul. 

“What am I supposed to do? Ask him to stop?” Paul asked, with a sudden laugh.

Richard merely showed Paul his middle finger, as Till wandered through from the kitchen with a baked potato on a plate. Schneider was close behind him, carrying his own baked potato. 

“What’s going on in here?” the vocalist asked, with interest. “Sounds like a really good discussion.” 

“Richard wants to kill Bob’s brother,” Flake said, gleefully.

“I didn’t say that,” Richard objected immediately. “Not and mean it, anyway. It was a throwaway comment, y’know.” 

“I think you’d have to get through Bob first,” Schneider pointed out, as he forked a mouthful of buttery potato between his lips. “Didn’t you say Bob was protective of his brother, Paul?” 

“Yeah,” Paul said, grimly. 

“Well then. Unlike a certain two immortally-inclined gentlemen in here, the remainder of us are still painfully human and likely to get killed,” the drummer pointed out. “Bob might try anything to stop us from hurting his brother. We might even get killed by the brother, yet, come to think of it.”

“I don’t wanna die, thanks,” Flake corroborated.

“He can’t be doing anyone any good,” Olli pointed out. “I mean the brother, not Bob.” 

“Yeah, look what he did to our bloody guitarists,” Till said, as he jabbed his potato laden fork in the direction of Richard and Paul. “And what’s the general consensus regarding the continued life-span of said brother, anyway, hmm?” 

“The general consensus hasn’t been drawn yet,” Paul said, glumly. “Olli and Flake were too busy nattering on about The Lost Boys and bloody American Werewolf.” 

“Okay, then,” Till said, as he arched one eyebrow at Olli.

The bassist merely shrugged back at him, looking a little embarrassed. 

“If you want, I’ll shoot him for you,” Till offered, from around another mouthful of potato.

“The brother? D’you think that wise?” Schneider asked. 

“Well, we already know that he‘s changed other people, even if Bob’s not telling us who,” Paul pointed out. “He can’t be happy with the situation, no matter what he says about family, or how protective he is.”

“Well, ask Bob to shoot him, then,” Till said, with a derisive snort. 

“We can’t ask Bob to do that,” Richard replied, in horror. 

“Why not? He’s probably the only one who’s gonna get close enough to this Martin guy without getting attacked, anyway. Besides, look what this guy’s done to you,” Till pointed out. “You can’t tell me that either of you are happy about it.”

Richard looked to Paul, and saw the helpless, lost look in his lover’s eyes. 

“I wouldn’t have chosen this for myself,” Richard admitted, slowly.

“Me, neither,” Paul agreed, just as slowly.

“But, given the choice between being like I am, and being dead, I’d rather be like this,” Richard continued, before grinning wide enough to show his fangs. 

“I’m glad you’re not dead, Reesh,” Paul said, swiftly. “I dunno what I’d do without you, you know.” 

“Ugh,” Till said, with a grimace, even as Richard smiled at Paul. “Disgusting.” 

“What is? I think it’s kinda nice, actually,” Olli said. “Better love story than Twilight.” 

“Anything’s a better love story than bloody Twilight,” Schneider pointed out, with disgust. “Not counting Fifty Shades, of course.”

“I can’t believe you actually read that shit, Chris,” Flake laughed at him.

“What? The books were on offer in Lidl. I had to buy them,” Schneider objected, with an ashamed smile. “It was a waste of money, if it makes the purchase any better.” 

“Yes, I suppose it does,” Till said, with a grimace. “I think we should put the idea to Bob, anyway. About killing his brother, I mean, not about any books on offer in Lidl.” 

“He won’t go for it,” Paul said, mournfully.

“He will, when I put it to him that his brother’s effectively committing murder,” Till said, before he turned to Richard and Paul. “I know you guys are still alive, sort of, but you’re not really, are you?” 

“Vampires are the undead,” Flake agreed, mournfully. “We’ve got dead guys in the band.” 

“I’m not holding that against you,” Olli said, as he turned his gaze upon Paul and Richard.

“Thanks,“’ Richard said, awkwardly. “I guess.”

“You’re welcome,” Olli said, pleasantly, with a smile. 

“Seriously, though, his brother’s killed you both, regardless of who bit who and whatnot,” Till snorted, before either vampire could protest. “And you told us about the others that he’d bitten just for shits and giggles. Even Bob's gotta admit that that ain’t right.” 

“Well, who’s gonna ask him? I’m sure as hell not gonna,” Paul said, immediately.

“Me, neither,” Richard agreed.

“I will, then,” Till said, in exasperation. “I’ll threaten him with two broken limbs of his choice, if he doesn’t.”

“What is it with you and broken limbs, Till?” Schneider asked. “You were gonna break Richard’s arm the other day.” 

“It’s the quickest way to get people to do what I want,” Till pointed out.

Even Schneider couldn’t disagree with that. 

“Okay, so it’s sorted, then,” Till said, with a nod as he continued to eat the remainder of his potato. “You know it’s the only sensible way. Then no one else will get hurt or infected, or whatever the fuck has happened to you two.” 

Richard exchanged a glance with Paul; they both were aware of the other’s gazes resting upon them.

“Your call, Reesh,” Paul said, quietly.

“Do it, Till,” Richard said, without ever taking his eyes from Paul. “Ask him.”

“Good,” Till said, smugly. “I’m glad you saw sense.”

“When are you asking him?” Flake asked, quietly. 

“Tomorrow,” Till replied. “It‘s too late now. I‘m not banging on his bloody door when I‘ve still got to eat my potato.” 

“Alright. Have it your way. You’ll have to tell us what happened, when we get up in the evening,” Paul said, as he shifted his gaze from Richard onto Till. 

Till merely nodded silently at him and continued eating his potato.

****


	12. Chapter 12

“D’you think we did the right thing?” Paul asked, later that night.

Richard and Paul were alone tin the living area of the cabin; outside, it still was snowing and the others had long since gone to bed. Both vampires were reading quietly, Paul stretched languidly across Richard’s lap; Rihcrad had been stroking Paul’s hair slowly with his free hand. 

“With Bob?” Richard asked, distracted still by his book.

“Hmm,” Paul said.

“I don't know,” Richard said, as he finally looked away from his book and down at Paul. “But we’ve gotta try something. You have to admit that Till has a point. We can’t let it carry on.” 

“Hmm,” Paul repeated, before he fell silent again. 

“Let’s not worry about it, too much, hmm?” Richard asked. “Whatever happens to Bob’s brother, he deserves it, y’know?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Paul said, before he fell silent again.

That time, Richard did not break teh silence again.

****

“So how did he take it?” Paul asked, as soon as he’d bounded into the living area of the cabin the following evening.

He’d heard the low rumble of Till’s voice from the bedroom, and had heard something about _damned Schneider better not keep me awake with Justin Bieber songs again tonight_ before he’d entered the room. 

“Who?” Till asked, even as Richard followed in Paul’s footsteps 

“You know who,” Paul replied, with some irritation. 

“Bob? Not well,” Olli replied, before Till could.

“You should have seen what happened,” Flake agreed, with an expression that was caught midway between a grin and a grimace. “Oh. Yeah. I forgot. You can’t.” 

Neither Paul nor Richard took any notice; instead, they kept their gazes trained expectantly upon Till’s face. 

“What do you want me to say? That he agreed, with a great big happy smile upon his face?” Till asked, with a shrug. “He swore, he yelled, he cried real tears, he threatened to stop producing our record and throw us off-site; he even all but threatened to shoot us, instead. He turned purple, Paul, purple.” 

“Well, I didn’t really expect it to go well,” Paul pointed out, slowly. 

“In the end, however, he saw it our way,” Till continued. 

“After Till threatened to break his arms, his legs, his nose and his best china if he didn’t comply,” Schneider offered, with a sudden laugh.

“I think it was the china that swung the deal,” Till added. “He’s gonna shoot his brother, don’t worry. And the nightmare will be over. Well, maybe not for you two.” 

Richard grunted unhappily, but Paul remained stoically silent, until a thoughtful frown crossed his face.

“I hope he realises he needs a silver bullet,” he said, suddenly.

“Oh don’t worry; he’s already got that sorted,” Flake said, all too happily. “Turns out that he had a batch made a few years ago.”

“He did?” Richard asked, in surprise. 

“Yeah; it turns out that his wife wasn’t too happy about having a vampire hanging around, brother-in-law or not,” Flake said. “Bob had them made just to keep her happy, even if he had no intention of actually using them.” 

“Until now,” Till said, with the vaguest of triumphant smiles.

“Hoorah for Mrs Adams,” Richard offered with a smile. 

“Ssshh, he’s going now, look,” Olli said, as he pointed through the window. 

Richard followed the others to the cabin's main window, and jostled for a position between Paul and Olli. Their breath fogged the glass and was continuously wiped away, as they tracked the progress of Bob’s passage through the falling snow, a hunting rifle slung awkwardly over one shoulder. Bob’s shoulders were slumped in defeat, his steps dragging and laboured through the heavy drifts of snow; Richard suspected that it was more to do with guilt and with reluctance than through any genuine difficulty with the weather. 

He disappeared beneath the cover of trees, and not even Richard and Paul’s keen eyesight could track him for long. It wasn’t long before the sharp report of gunfire reached the collective ears of the band, cracking through the air twice, before the night fell, mercifully, silent. 

“D’you think he’s done it?” Flake asked, quietly, as he turned his gaze upon Richard and Paul. “How d’you feel? Any different?” 

“No,” Paul replied, glumly, as Richard shook his head beside him.

“Damn,” Flake said, before Till hushed them quickly. 

“Bob’s coming back. He’s still alive and he’s headed this way,” he said, as he broke away from the window to head for the door. 

“Oh, shit,” Schneider said, as he followed in the vocalist’s footsteps.

The others remained at the window and listened to the exchange outside. 

“I hope you’re all satisfied now,” Bob’s voice drifted through the open doorway. “My brother’s dead; shot and staked. I’m burying him in the morning, or at least, as best as I can given the state of the weather, at the moment. Once this album’s finished, you fuckers are leaving my property; I hope you know that.” 

With that, he stalked away, and passed the window without a second glance.

“Well,” Till said, as he closed the door firmly. “That went well, didn’t it?”

****

Work on the album continued, yet Bob seemed in no mood to engage in conversation with the band, nor even look at any of them; the atmosphere was awkward and strained, and even Till seemed uncomfortable. Finally, it came time for Richard and Paul to record their guitar parts; they worked throughout the night, with the stand-in technician, as Bob had promised there would be. They finished laying their tracks earlier than they ever had before, leaving Till to take his place in the recording booth, to lay down his vocals over the mostly finished tracks.

****

**three weeks later**

Bob played them the finished tracks, after Paul and Richard had woken one evening, hands joined beneath the table whilst they listened. The room was silent when the music finally faded out, and they were left staring at one another in silence.

“I think that’s the best work you guys have ever done,” Bob offered, to fill the silence.

He looked awkward and uncomfortable, as though he thought the silence was one of disappointment, instead of stunned disbelief and awe. Richard couldn't help but notice that Bob didn’t look particularly pleased, nor did he look in their direction, still. Richard knew that Bob seemingly still held a grudge against them for what they’d made him do. 

“I think you’re right,” Schneider was the first to say, head bobbing in excited agreement.

The others were quick to agree, and even Flake had little to complain about. 

“I’m sure it’ll keep the fans happy,” Olli offered, with a smile.

“Ah. Yeah. The fans,” Till said, darkly.

An awkward silence fell in the room, and it became obvious to both Richard and Paul that the rest of the band were pointedly trying not to look in their direction. 

“When are we gonna address the elephant in the room?” Paul said, eventually, wearily. “And by that, I mean, where do we stand with each other? What‘s the future of Rammstein, now?” 

“Well, I’m willing to give it a go, if everyone else is,” Olli said, immediately, as he finally glanced in the direction of the guitarists.

“Me, too,” Till said, just as quietly, despite his earlier glumness. “If you two are.”

“Of course,” Richard said, and he spoke for both of them. 

Paul merely nodded out his silent corroboration. Schneider nodded, also silently, but Flake had a question to ask.

“Are you sure you won’t bite us?” he asked, as he cast a quick and uncomfortable glance at Richard and Paul.

“Well, we have had plenty of opportunities to sneak into any one of your rooms and do so by now and we haven’t,” Paul pointed out. “I would say that you guys are safe with us, wouldn‘t you?”

“True,” Till corroborated. gruffly. “I still think we can do this. Like Paul said the other week, we hardly do interviews anyway, we mostly play at night or in the evening, and we can always repeat our schedule here whenever we record. We’ve proved we can do it this way, and bloody successfully as well, if I am permitted to say so. The only things that bothers me are photo shoots and video shoots. How the hell are we going to do those?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Richard said, uncertain as to how they would even proceed with any kind of shoot. 

“We’ll just have to stick with night shoots, or something,” Flake suggested, with a brief smile at the vampires.

“I guess. Like Reesh said, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Paul said. “Can we really do this?”

“I think so,” Till spoke for all of them. 

“I hope so,” Flake added, a little more morosely than Till.

“Good,” Richard said, with a nod. “I think this calls for a celebration, don’t you?” 

“I’m up for that,” Schneider said, immediately. “I could bloody well do with a stiff drink, right now.” 

“I could do with a stiff something else,” Richard agreed, as he stared meaningfully at Paul. 

Paul pretended that he hadn’t heard Richard’s lewd comment, glad for the fact that it had, at least, broken some more of the ice that had fallen between them and the rest of the band. Laughter prevailed and even Flake was chuckling away where he sat, eyes partially closing with his vaguely disgusted amusement. 

Bob declined to join them, and left the band to retreat to the safety of his own cabin whilst they celebrated; beers were cracked open and consumed, whilst an impromptu array of snacks were pulled from fridge and cupboard alike. Paul and Richard slipped out whilst the celebrations still were in full swing, returning when their blood-lust was sated and their bellies were full; the conversation had shifted from enthusing over a successful recording process to discussing their future. The two vampires were relieved when they were invited to join the conversation, to lend suggestions and lively asides to how the fans would react to the new offering. Whilst they couldn’t predict the general acceptance of it, their outlook was good and hopeful, and the celebrations continued well past midnight. 

In time, the band melted away to their beds, leaving only Richard and Paul in the living room. They were left in silence, staring thoughtfully at one another; it was Paul, predictably, who broke the silence first.

“This is gonna work, isn’t it?” he asked, genuine excitement warming his voice and his face.

“I think so,” Richard replied, with a nod, yet his excitement was tempered with cautiousness. 

“Don’t be silly, of course it is,” Paul said, excitedly. “I really think things have returned to normal, don’t you?” 

“For now, they have,” Richard said, but his obvious relief outweighed his dubiousness. 

“Things will be fine, you’ll see, and if they’re not ... well, we still have each other, don’t we?” Paul asked, confidently.

“Now that I can agree upon,” Richard said, immediately, with his first genuine and unguarded grin of the evening. 

Paul laughed and leant in to give his partner a kiss, fangs nipping gently at Richard’s lower lip. 

“I think it’s high time we celebrated in private, isn’t it? Now that we’re finally alone?” he asked, as he stared hopefully into Richard's face, one eyebrow arching as he began to leer at his partner.

Richard’s only response was to laugh, to nod and to press a needy kiss against Paul’s mouth. Paul smiled into the kiss, even as an utter certainty that everything would be alright settled firmly in his gut. After all, they had plenty of time to tame the beast that lived inside them both, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now it's come time to say that this chapter marks the end of this story. I am hoping to write more in this 'verse at some point in the future; I had too much fun writing about vamp!Paul and vamp!Richard to just leave it there. I'm not sure when it'll get done, but it is a hope! 
> 
> I just wanna thank all those have that have read the story, left kudos and plenty o' lovely comments; it means a lot to me that you've enjoyed reading it as much I have writing it. Or at least I hope you have!!! XD

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Artwork for The Beast in Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4769804) by [Silent_So_Long](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long)




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